Coming Home
by RuthR
Summary: In the wake of the typhoid epidemic that ravaged Cutter Gap, Christy struggles to recover her health, resolve her problems with David, and puzzle out her feelings toward a certain enigmatic doctor.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Well, I finally decided to take the plunge into fanfic. ; ) If you're like me, the somewhat abrupt ending to the novel was a bit jarring, although beautifully written and inspirational, so I thought I might try my hand at tying off a few of those cliffhangers Mrs. Marshall left us with. The story takes up immediately after Dr. MacNeill's bedside confession.  
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_Disclaimer: Catherine Marshall's _Christy_ is the property of the Marshall-LeSourd family. I am in no way seeking credit or profit for her story; this work of fanfiction is for amusement only._**  
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CHAPTER ONE

THE JOY OF THE children...I could hear the peals of carefree laughter still floating in the air, pressing in around me, giving comfort, familiarity – a sense of coming home. Fairlight's smile filled my mind's eye, and the last vestiges of grief fell from my heart; instead I was overflowing with a new freshness. That joy! How I had coveted it, and now it was at last within my reach!

"Christy?" Again, that deep voice called me, lovingly, desperately; and then I remembered. The Doctor...his prayer...the river, Fairlight's river...he _needed_ me. "Christy, please, open your eyes. Squeeze my hand again – anything – just show me that you can hear me. Christy?"

I struggled to open my eyelids. Light – an unwavering, piercing light – was gleaming somewhere in the distance, and I wanted to see it...I wanted to see _him._ With great effort, my lashes parted.

The light was the steady warmth of an oil-lamp flame, flickering on the bedside table. The brightness stung, and I was suddenly aware of a deep, weary ache that stole throughout my body, but my reward was in seeing the look of glowing delight on Dr. MacNeill's face as our eyes met.

"Christy!" One large, square-palmed hand reached out and touched my forehead, the calloused fingers gentle against my feverish skin. He stared at me, his face ashen and streaked with tears, and mustering up my strength, I smiled at him.

He grasped my hands, almost wildly, and dropped his head down to the mattress next to me, his shoulders trembling. "Oh, thank God," he gasped. "Thank God. Alice! _Alice!"_

Footsteps pounded up the staircase, and the bedroom door flew open. Miss Alice stood in the doorway, breathless, looking uncharacteristically frightened. "Neil...?" She saw me; her hands flew up to cover her mouth as she began to cry.

I tried to call out to her, reassure her that I was well; the words stuck in my sore, parched throat. All that escaped was a faint whining sound, a pathetic imitation of my voice, but it managed to draw the Doctor's notice. Wiping his damp face unashamedly on his sleeve, he turned around and said, his tone again decisive and confident, "Get me that pitcher and cup from the cabinet, will you, Alice?"

Miss Alice rushed to do his bidding, and in seconds she was kneeling on the opposite side of my bed, smoothing back my hair, beaming as Dr. MacNeill helped me drink from the glass. I choked on the first sip – the inside of my mouth felt fuzzy and thick, like it had been stuffed full of cotton. He and Miss Alice propped me up until the coughing subsided, and the next few drops went down without much trouble.

The instant the Doctor set the glass aside, I slumped down onto the pillows, completely drained. "Rest thee easy, Christy," Miss Alice soothed, her impenetrable Quaker calmness once again restored. "You have been given back to us." Her grey eyes glittered softly as she tucked the quilt back up around my shoulders.

I wanted to fight against the weariness that was pulling so strongly against me. There was so much I wanted – needed – to know. How long had I been sick? Was the epidemic finally over? Had there been school while I was ill? What had happened to the children?

As much as I wrestled with exhaustion, it overtook me soon enough, and my last memory before I drifted off was that of the comforting pressure of two hands gripping mine – one soft and warm, the other roughly-hewn but cradling my fingers with all the gentleness of a caress.

* * *

I AWOKE SEVERAL HOURS later to the low murmur of hushed voices. I could pick out Miss Alice's mild tones, as well as Dr. MacNeill's rumbling baritone, but the third voice, speaking now even as I listened, took me a few moments longer to recognize.

"...and you're positive, MacNeill? If there's even the slightest chance that Christy could have a relapse..."

Suddenly it came to me: David! I forced my eyes open again and twisted around toward the sounds. The three were gathered around the window, apparently deep in conversation, for none of them heard me rustling under the covers as I propped myself up on my elbows. Even the small movement made my head spin but, determined not to give in to the weakness, I remained in that position until the dizziness ebbed away.

"Da-vid," I croaked.

They all swiveled around simultaneously, almost mechanically, and I would have laughed if I hadn't been aching from the roots of my hair down to my toenails.

"Christy, you're awake!" Sidestepping Miss Alice, David scooted over to sit on the bed next to me, grinning from ear to ear. "About time, sleepyhead."

He was trying to tease me, but I could see the tension in every line of his face and the set of his lean shoulders. Even his warm smile couldn't hide the rings under his bloodshot eyes. Poor David – the past weeks must have been unbearable with all the sickness at the mission. I knew how much he disliked playing the nursemaid.

Miss Alice joined us. "How are you now, Miss Huddleston?"

I touched her hand affectionately. "If I'm supposed to feel like I've been dragged through the Big Mud Hole," I rasped, "then I'm just fine."

At this, Dr. MacNeill moved from his position at the window and came to stand behind Miss Alice, peering at me intently. "I think it's time for an examination, now that you've gotten a little rest. Are you up to it?"

I nodded, allowing David to prop the pillows up against my back. I smiled my thanks, and Dr. MacNeill briskly shooed him out of the room. Miss Alice went downstairs for a wash basin and towels, promising that she would help me clean up a little. It sounded wonderful – I felt grimy and grubby, and I knew my hair must be a snarled mess.

Dr. MacNeill brought over his bag and took out the stethoscope and a thermometer. He was all physician, efficiently checking my lungs and pulse, examining my eyes, ears, and mouth, and ensuring that I held the thermometer securely under my tongue for an accurate reading. He didn't say much, his concentration absorbed by the inspection, and I kept silent, knowing from experience that he hated interruptions while he was working.

Only after he had tucked away the stethoscope did he speak. "Do you feel nauseous? Chilled?"

I shook my head, and he jotted something down on a pad of paper from his pocket.

"How about pain in your abdomen or chest? Congestion?"

Again I answered in the negative – or at least answered as well as I could around the thermometer.

He reached up and tipped my chin forward, removing the thermometer from my mouth. "Faintness? Dizziness?"

I started to say no, hesitated, and nodded. The Doctor leaned forward, frowning, and probed around my scalp. I winced as he reached my temples. "We'll have to watch that headache," he said gravely. "Tell me or Alice at once if it should get worse. I don't think it's anything to alarm yourself over – just residual stress – but it could cause complications if it worsens, and in your state, we need to be as cautious as we can be."

My curiosity could be contained no longer; now that my mouth was free, I leapt headfirst into the questions that had been crowding my thoughts. "How is everyone, Doctor? I mean, how are Ruby Mae and Will – and Little Burl? Sam Houston? Creed? The Spencers? Is Lety Coburn better? What about —?"

"One at a time, please," he cut in. I could see his lips twitching, as though he wished to smile but didn't dare. "Ruby Mae is fully recovered, and Sam Houston and all the Allens and Spencers are fine." Any traces of amusement left his face as he continued, "Lety didn't make it. Neither did Wraight Holt, and about eight others down in Low Gap."

"I'm sorry," I murmured, knowing how deeply losing patients affected him.

He shrugged, and, seeming to wish to change the subject, held the thermometer out in front of me and tapped the red line. "Your temperature is still a little high, but it's to be expected. Your color is good, and your pulse is steady." He took out a cloth from his bag and began rubbing the glass tube down with alcohol. Without looking up, he added, "You gave us quite a scare, Miss Huddleston." He lifted his head, piercing hazel eyes searching my face – for what I didn't know.

All of a sudden, I felt unconscionably shy, and I could hardly bring myself to look him straight in the eye. After all, what was I supposed to say to a man who had stayed steadfastly by my sickbed – nearly my deathbed – day and night without proper rest or nourishment, who had wept and declared passionate love for me, whose prayers had seemingly called me back from the threshold of heaven itself?

The next moment I scolded myself for being utterly melodramatic. We had become friends of a sort, and he was the same stubborn, red-headed Neil MacNeill that he had always been...No – no, that wasn't true. I thought of that prayer, and how he had apparently at long last given up his anger at a God who had to him seemed only to punish and destroy and devastate. No, he wasn't the same.

I said the first thing that came to mind. "Thank you."

Dr. MacNeill looked momentarily taken aback; his eyes narrowed, and he glanced away. "Don't thank me."

"Why not?" I was tempted to reach out for him, but the weariness was creeping up on me again and it didn't seem worth the effort. "I know that you stayed with me while I was sick. You looked after me so carefully, and I honor you for it."

His lips tightened. "I couldn't do anything for you," he said tersely. "I was perfectly worthless – you were burning up, and I couldn't bring down your fever. I tried everything. I..." He broke off. I simply waited, hoping and doubting at the same time. Would he admit it, or would he pretend that the wondrous events of that morning never happened?

Fixing his eyes steadily on mine, he said deliberately, "I wasn't the one who healed you."

I felt stirrings of joy fill my heart at this admission, expecting that he would confess the whole of it, but he said nothing more – he only sat there, watching me silently. For a moment I was disappointed, but a glance at his face made me realize that he was uncertain, maybe even a little afraid. This was all new to him; he had rejected these ideas years ago, and to suddenly be confronted with the truth would be enough to unsettle anyone. He looked diffident, almost timid, and with a rush of compassion, I extended my hand.

He took it gingerly. "Did you hear me? I didn't save you, Christy."

"Good."

The astonishment on his face made me smile. "I would have been in your debt forever if you had," I said, injecting all the playfulness I could manage into my voice. "You don't want to be a miracle worker, just a doctor – and a very good doctor at that."

I hoped he would understand what I was trying to say, and, judging from the smile on his face, he did. There was a tenderness about his eyes as he rose and fussed with my covers, tucking them underneath my chin. "Get some sleep, Christy. You've had a rough time of it, and you must get your strength back." We could hear Miss Alice climbing the stairs. "Alice will help you with your bath," he said, taking up his bag, "and I'll be in to check on you in a few hours."

He winked at me and left; I watched him disappear through the doorway and down the staircase until my view was blocked by Miss Alice, coming inside with a basin of hot water and a pile of freshly-laundered towels.

It took more effort than I expected to struggle out of my nightclothes and sit up, and it was rather embarrassing to undress in front of Miss Alice, but the wonderful feeling of the warm water washing away several days' accumulation of sweat and dirt made it worth the laborious process. Miss Alice helped me towel off and change into a new nightgown, and I lay back on the pillows, what little energy I had left completely sapped.

After setting the basin over by the door to be emptied, Miss Alice sat with me on the bed. "Tired?"

I nodded, a little surprised that I could already want to be asleep so soon after having awoken. As usual, Miss Alice seemed to recognize the direction my thoughts were taking, for she tucked a stray curl behind my ear and said gently, "Sleep is the best thing of all for you. It shall heal you as efficiently as any medicine." I watched as she turned her face toward the open windows, the afternoon sunlight glinting off her golden coronet of braids. A sudden thought occurred to me.

"Miss Alice, do my parents know I'm sick?"

"I telephoned your mother and father the first night you were ill." She hesitated, looking at me with compassionate eyes. "Yesterday, I was prepared to call again and tell them to take the train to El Pano at once. I shall not lie to thee: we did not expect you to survive. Neil had never seen a typhoid case that brought such a high fever." She trailed off, and I lay back; her silences pacified me, just as they always had. "It was a miracle that you came through, Miss Huddleston. Neil and I despaired of seeing you well again." A beautiful smile drew across her lips. "By the grace of God, you were given back to us."

I pondered this for a moment. How I longed to tell her of what I had seen and heard in those early hours – but something held my tongue. I could not bring myself to speak of the prayer, or of Fairlight and the children... Someday, perhaps, when the time was right, I would share with her my vision of heaven. For now, I held it securely inside me, like a little girl might clasp close a secret.

"I will inform your parents of your recovery tonight, and when you are able, you may speak to them yourself. They will be relieved to hear from you."

_My parents_...I thought of how the typhoid epidemic must have terrified them, how apprehensively they must now be awaiting news of my fate. I could almost see the grief on Mother's lovely face, the anxiety in my father's eyes as he wondered what was happening to his 'Girlie' so many miles away...It suddenly seemed like an eternity since I had been with them, and I found myself desperately wishing to be back in Asheville with Mother and Daddy, George, Grandmother Rudd...

Miss Alice must have sensed something of my thoughts, for she sat against the headboard and lightly pulled my head onto her lap. I resisted at first, feeling childish, but the comforting weight of her hand on my head and her familiar scent, peppermint and sweet perfume, made me relax. I didn't care how young or mawkish it might make me seem; I acknowledged that above everything else, I wanted my mother.

"Sleep now, child, and rest thy body."

I was helpless to disobey her order – I felt my eyelids drooping even as she spoke. Miss Alice bent to press a kiss on my forehead, and as I snuggled back under the gentle weight of the covers, I heard, just before the door closed, her whisper, "God bless thee, Christy Huddleston."

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

I SPENT THE GREATER part of the next few days sleeping – an insurmountable exhaustion seemed to have taken hold of me. No matter how much I rested, I was always tired. Dr. MacNeill assured me it was perfectly normal, and that my body needed all that sleep in order to regenerate and recover from the illness that had so depleted its strength.

In between naps, Miss Alice and Ruby Mae Beck – who, having overcome her bout of pneumonic typhoid more quickly than anyone had expected, had returned to help at the mission during the day – continually urged me to take water and soup, even when I insisted I wasn't thirsty or the least bit hungry.

"Keep her full of liquids," Dr. MacNeill had announced, the morning after my first awakening, "and _only_ liquids." He shot a look over at Miss Ida. "You know the drill, Ida. Thick soups, broth, things that are rich and nourishing, but nothing solid for ten days." He turned his stern gaze unto me. "Understood?"

The memory of Lundy Taylor writhing and crying on the ground, clutching his ulcerated stomach, was enough to convince me, had I harbored any reservations at all about adhering to the Doctor's orders. Not that Miss Ida would have let me break the rules even if I was inclined to – she was as stern a taskmistress as ever. The irony amused me, but the truth of it was that I found a strange comfort in her familiar tart-tongued brusqueness. Perhaps it reminded me that though my life had changed in many ways, some things would always remain the same.

When I was not sleeping or forcing down another round of water and broth, I was kept busy with visitors. Perhaps Miss Alice sensed that I would become too pensive if I was left alone for long; perhaps she knew, in that uncanny way of hers, that the events of the previous month weighed heavily on my mind. Whatever her reasons, she ensured that in my waking moments, I always had someone to talk to or just sit with.

Dr. MacNeill refused to let in anyone besides the mission workers. My immune system was too overtaxed to be exposed to the often unwashed and unkempt children – I would have to be content with seeing only David, Miss Alice, the Doctor, Ruby Mae, and Miss Ida; the others would have to wait.

And so time passed with some degree of normalcy. David came in twice a day to help prop me up on the pillows, as I was too weak to sit up by myself. After seeing me settled, he would take up residence on the chair by my bed and read to me or talk about my students' latest mischief – usually courtesy of Creed Allen.

"They miss you terribly, Christy," he said one afternoon, looking out my window over at the schoolhouse, where the children were playing in the yard during their 'dinner spell.' "Not an hour goes by when someone doesn't ask me how you're feeling, or how long it'll be before you come back to school. They're worried about you."

I knew that well. Ruby Mae had spoken for everyone when, upon first seeing me, she had burst into noisy tears, exclaiming between sobs that, "Lordy, we thought ye was gonna be worm-feed, Miz Christy! Thankee yer up an' kickin' again!"

The concern was certainly merited. I had learned from my weeks of nursing during the epidemic just how dangerous the first days of recovery were for a typhoid patient. I knew Dr. MacNeill was aware of it, for his daily examinations were painstaking – after checking my pulse and breathing, he also would take careful note of every slight change in my complexion and temperature. The constant prodding and poking might have bothered me, had I not been too weary to object, and had he not taken time out to speak to me as well.

These conversations were not terribly personal, as more often than not, he brought me news of other families in the Cove, but I anticipated them with girlish enthusiasm. Even when I had not liked him, he had managed to impress me with his vast store of knowledge on a myriad of subjects, as well as his ability to listen to other opinions – or more distinctly, to _me._

David could never talk seriously. He might say a few solemn words, maybe listen for a few minutes, and then he would crack a smile or a joke and change the subject. I loved his cheerfulness, for it had raised my low spirits many times, but in that joviality there was an immaturity, an unwillingness to grapple with the more difficult questions in life.

Dr. MacNeill perhaps was _too_ skeptical, on the entirely opposite end of the spectrum, yet I felt that he respected my – as Mary Allen might say – "thinkin' ways." He didn't humor me as David was all too apt to do; he didn't pat me on the head and smile, like I was a child who had said something ignorant but amusing. He listened, and he considered. My opinions may not have been completely fixed, and I blundered over them as often as any other person, but even though he might shake his head over my naivety, he knew I was capable.

Some of the friendly ease with which we had kept company before was, by reason of the circumstances, done away with. His sentiments toward me, as well as his possible conversion, consumed a large part of my thoughts when we were together. I longed to ask him but did not dare. In addition to this, my mother had determinedly ingrained in me her staunch sense of Victorian propriety, and being seen by a man – even a doctor – while dressed only in a nightgown was somewhat unnerving...and the fact that Dr. MacNeill had voiced his feelings for me didn't make it any less awkward.

In any case, I carefully avoided topics that might raise questions about our relationship; it seemed wisest to let us both recover from the stress of the past weeks before wading into that particular quagmire.

But then, as with many things, it was easier said than done. When David, reading to me one evening, playfully dropped a kiss on my lips, I realized that I had never given him an answer to his proposal. He apparently considered us engaged, and I was doing nothing to correct his misconception. Cowardly it might have been, and a part of me knew that it would hurt everyone involved all the more for my procrastination, but I could not bring myself to say anything to him. And so I allowed the hand-holding and endearments, all the while cursing myself for my weakness.

By the week's end, I was ready to have a complete wash, and Miss Ida was equally eager for an opportunity to launder the dirty linens. After some hemming and hawing, Dr. MacNeill gave his consent to the plan. Since I couldn't walk on my own, I would have to be put in the bath before the water was added in – Miss Alice wasn't strong enough to lift me into a full bathtub and I certainly wasn't going to let any of the men see me bathe.

Dr. MacNeill carried me to the tub and then left Miss Ida and Miss Alice to undress me and pour in the heated pitchers of water. It felt glorious, and for the first time in days I relaxed. The scent of chamomile and rose-water soothed me, and Miss Alice chatted easily about her recent journey to Raven Gap.

"Nothing lifts my spirits more than being among children," she was saying, soaping up a washcloth for my face, "and you shall be pleased to return to them, Miss Huddleston. They are eagerly awaiting your company and your teaching." She smiled at me. "And I shall be glad to see you restored to your proper place at the schoolhouse."

"I'll be glad when you're up and able to help out in the kitchen," Miss Ida added, in her usual clipped tones. "I declare that Ruby Mae is a disaster waiting to happen. David has been served enough burnt possum to last him for an eternity. I won't be surprised if Will Beck ends up starving by the end of the season."

I laughed. Poor David...or rather, poor Will! Ruby Mae tried – she truly did – but I had never met anyone more helpless around the house. I was sure that in time she would grow into her role as wife and housekeeper, but for now, our stomachs would all have to suffer her admittedly original culinary creations.

After drying me off, Miss Alice helped me into a fresh nightgown while Miss Ida went downstairs to fetch Dr. MacNeill. He settled me into bed with care – I suddenly remembered the feel of his hands on me while I was delirious with fever; the impression of those fingers, so powerful but so gentle, had never left me.

"Try to sleep a little more," he informed me gruffly, breaking into my reverie. "I know you may not feel tired, but the more you rest, the sooner you can be up and about."

I laid back and sighed with pleasure; the new linens were cool, crisp with starch. The Doctor was shrugging into his coat and scarf, preparing to head home. "How about you?" I asked impetuously.

He turned to look at me. "What about me?"

"Have you been getting enough sleep?" I had noticed the dark hollows had reappeared under his eyes, just as they had during the epidemic, when he couldn't have been sleeping more than two or three hours per night.

A smile danced about his mouth. "Perhaps nursing suits you better than you think, Miss Huddleston. You've come a long way since your first encounter with mountain medicine."

I doggedly pursued the question. "Well, how long _has_ it been since you've had a full night's rest?"

Those broad shoulders shrugged faintly as he bent to sling his saddlebags over his arm.

"You need to sleep too," I said firmly. "A doctor can't compromise his own health. What would we do if you were sick?"

"I hear you, Miss Huddleston," he replied, with an edge of amusement in his voice. "I'll take some time for myself tonight, I promise; Ida has been kind enough to pack a good dinner for me to take back to the cabin. Don't worry yourself."

I suddenly felt uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, Doctor. That was presumptuous."

"No, no," he said, smiling openly now. "It's only that...well, no one has worried about those kind of things for a long time – about how well I was eating, or whether I'd gotten enough sleep; it's a pleasant change. Thank you."

I didn't know what to say. He nodded to me, crammed his hat over that wild mop of reddish hair, and left the room. I heard his boots thumping down the stairway, the front door opening and closing, and a moment later, the sound of Charlie's hoofbeats outside the window. I leaned back into the pillows, feeling suddenly, inexplicably lonely.

* * *

TIME PASSED BY QUICKLY, but my progress was slow. I remained sluggish and weak even as my appetite improved; so small a task as sitting up seemed, at times, impossible. Dr. MacNeill informed me that it was natural, as all that time in bed had made my muscles begin to atrophy. He and Miss Alice were stern taskmasters, insisting on daily exercises to build up my strength; no matter how I begged or complained, they never gave in or even lost patience with me – a remarkable feat in particular for the Doctor, with his quick Scottish temper.

I see now that they took care not to push me past my endurance, though at the time it seemed as though the exertion I made was endless. My weariness made me waspish, and more often than not David and the Doctor were the ones who were stung. Miss Alice was too intuitive to not know when to let things be, but poor David let himself get trampled over, and Dr. MacNeill was too stubborn to let my arguments get in the way of his work.

My occasional peevishness aside, things were not so wholly bad – six days after I first regained consciousness, Miss Alice and the Doctor determined that I would be able to receive a few visitors. They were restricted to only two or three a day, and those only for a few minutes, but I was delighted to have company.

Opal McHone was the first to visit; she sat with me and spoke of her children and the latest Cove gossip, and then she shyly asked if I would like to be read to for a spell. To my amazement and delight, Opal slowly read from her ragged Bible, and she finished nearly an entire chapter with but a few slight mistakes and mispronunciations. I was full to bursting with pride in her accomplishment – Opal didn't have Fairlight's clever quickness, but there was something equally perceptive in her sweet, worry-worn face – and she seemed pleased at having raised my spirits: her objective all along, I imagined. She promised to return soon and assured me she looked forward to continuing our reading lessons when I was well again.

Another visit lifted my heart even more; one afternoon, Miss Ida knocked on my door and announced that I had callers – even as she spoke, little Lulu Spencer's face poked around the woman's skirts, scanning my room. Her puckish face lit up upon seeing me, and she immediately toddled inside. I could see her brothers, sisters, and even her father lingering behind in the hall, smiling tentatively. I cried out an enthusiastic hello, and as if it were some sort of signal, the children poured inside.

The heavy odor of alcohol followed them in, and I knew that Dr. MacNeill must have insisted the children wash their hands in it before allowing them to enter the sickroom. I kissed Least'un's fat cheeks, and pulled Lulu up to sit next to me on the bed – never before had I been so glad to see them. Zady and Clara cried, and John played me an impromptu tune on his harmonica. They all talked at once, and I felt a dozen small hands tugging at my nightdress and reaching around to hug me.

Jeb stood nearby, watching his children quietly. I could see the ravages of grief and exhaustion around his mouth and brow, the same affection-starved expression that lingered in all the eyes of the Spencer children visible in him too. When Miss Alice beckoned the children over to the plate of cookies Miss Ida had sent up, I reached out for him. "Jeb?"

He sat uncomfortably on the edge of the mattress and took the hand I held out. I smiled at him – this man who had so loved my friend – and I knew I had to tell him. It had given me serenity; I only hoped it would do the same for him. "I saw Fairlight, Jeb."

The mountain man stared at me, looking politely confused.

"When I was sick, I saw her," I clarified, guessing that he must think me still in the throes of some feverish lunacy. "I saw her down by the river, singing...she looked so...so _happy_..." I felt tears come unbidden at the memory as that warmth, that glorious peace that I had felt at that moment again washed over me. "I know it was Fairlight. I saw her – and the babies. Jeter and Ceclie."

I saw his dark eyes widen.

"She was sitting with them, singing to them...and the river..." I broke off, unable to describe the overawing majesty I had seen, that place so filled with joy. "Wherever it was, Jeb, she was there with her children, and she was happy."

His expression did not alter, but there was rich meaning in the way he gripped my hand and the tone of his voice as he said, "I'm obleeged to ya, Miz Christy, fer lettin' me know."

All too soon, Miss Alice firmly ushered the Spencers back downstairs, much to the children's dismay, as well as my own. "Five more minutes, Miss Alice," I pleaded, sounding more like the girls and boys gathered around my bed than the twenty-year-old schoolmarm I was. "Surely five minutes can't hurt me."

Miss Alice's grey eyes softened, but with gentle insistence, she shooed away my visitors. "You need your rest, Miss Huddleston. Have no fear, Mr. Spencer and the children will return soon."

I reluctantly bid goodbye to my students, assuring them once again that I would be delighted to see them whenever they chose to come. Zady, her thin face painted with anxiety, lingered behind, and as the others filed out of the room, she went over to Miss Alice and whispered something in her ear, glancing over at me. I saw the Quaker woman's expression fill with compassionate understanding, and she replied softly before sending the girl – whose countenance appeared much more at ease – out the door after her siblings.

I merely looked at Miss Alice, who went to close the door behind the retreating figures; after opening the window to let in some fresh air, she perched on my bed and smiled. "I fear Zady is still alarmed about your health, Miss Huddleston. She wished to receive my solemn promise that you were recovering."

I thought immediately of Fairlight's shockingly abrupt death – Zady's concern was a real one. Poor motherless girl...Clara would bear the brunt of the change as the eldest, required to take her mother's place, but the others would sorely feel Fairlight's absence. My dear friend had left behind her a void which no one else could come close to filling.

"They will heal," Miss Alice said calmly, her eyes closed as she welcomed the warm breeze that filtered in through the curtains. "In time they will all heal, and Mrs. Spencer's memory will no longer bring pain, but only joy."

If I doubted that there would be no pain at all in the end, I was wise enough not to say so.

* * *

_A/N: Wow -- Thanks for all your lovely comments! They were very encouraging. ;) I'll try to post twice a week for the first few chapters, since I've already written them, but I might not be able to post as regularly after that. The story itself will move fairly slowly at first, but once Christy's feeling better, hopefully things will become a little more exciting. :D_

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	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

I BECAME QUITE a popular person over the next few days. Visits from the Holcombes, the Allens, the O'Teales, the Coburns, Granny Barclay and the Holts, the McHones, Ben Pentland, and of course, the Spencers, came in rapid succession. The children were always brought along as the excuse for the visit, but I suspected that their parents were motivated to come by a desire to see for themselves that I really was alive and well. According to David, the mountain people regarded my recovery as nothing short of a miracle.

I delighted in seeing so many familiar faces, and the children's eager affection urged me to focus my energies on returning to life as usual. Once again my students gave me the determination to do what was right for me and for them, and I became a model patient, following Dr. MacNeill's instructions to the letter, resting constantly and accepting all manner of vile concoctions he forced on me in the hopes of receiving a clean bill of health sooner.

He could see right through my pretense of being agreeable, but he also recognized the will behind it and did his best to accommodate me. And so, with no opposition, everything seemed well on the way to returning to a state of tenuous normalcy – at least until I tried to comb my hair.

For nearly a week, I hadn't been able to wash it or brush the tangles out; Miss Alice had bound up the lot into one of her nightcaps, insisting I keep it on. I had supposed she wanted it out of the way, but I was determined to have it straightened and clean before the knots became entirely unmanageable.

I could now rise and walk a short distance without assistance, and eagerly I picked up my fine-tooth comb and untied the bonnet, setting it aside on the dresser. I moved over to sit in front of the mirror...and promptly dropped the brush in shock.

_My_ _hair!_ I could only stare at my reflection in horror – my hair was falling out! The thick, shining brown waves, of which I had always been so proud, were now lacklustre strings that that hung limply over my scalp in checkered patches. Even as I reached up to touch them, a clump came off in my hand.

Miss Alice found me a few minutes later, and with silent compassion, she came over and held me while I cried. She soothed me like my mother would have, assuring me with loving firmness that I was not vain for bemoaning the loss of my hair, and entreating me to remember that it would grow back again. After all, the same thing had happened to Zady and Bessie, and they were none the worse for it.

No sooner had I begun to calm down than she brought out a pair of scissors. She must have seen my expression, for she announced without pause, "It shall be easier if we just level it out; then it shall grow even. Bear up thy loss, child, and move on."

I knew she was right, but the knowledge didn't stop me from cringing with each snip of the shears against my curls. At long last she was done. I gazed over into the mirror – and instantly wished I hadn't. My face was appallingly thin. The protruding bones of my cheeks and chin and the hollows under my eyes were even more pronounced against the sorry wisps of shorn hair that barely reached my chin – a far cry from the luxuriant ringlets that had once tumbled down past my waist.

Miss Alice removed the looking-glass from the wall, setting it down behind the vanity. "Do not turn your thoughts onto the past; fix them on the future instead. You are alive, Christy." She ran her hand through what was left of my hair. "When you are well, we can curl your hair. It will only be shorter, and you shall be no less a beauty for the change."

Looking back, I can see that it was not so much the loss of my hair that pained me as it was what that loss represented. Miss Alice's assurances did help, but my appearance would remain a tender issue for me in the weeks to come, and David, with typical male insensitivity, managed to trample all over it.

"A new haircut, huh?" came the sickeningly happy remark, as he came to look in on me that next day while Dr. MacNeill finished his examination. "First it was the ice-pick shoes and then the hats – at this rate you'll be on the front page of the Cutter Gap fashion papers."

To my mortification, I was unable to laugh off his teasing. Dr. MacNeill, with his ever-observant physician's eyes, saw my expression. Taking his stethoscope out of his ears, he glared at David. "Perhaps you ought to leave, Grantland. Miss Huddleston will want privacy for the next part of the exam."

Dr. MacNeill hadn't needed to intrude under the bedclothes for several days, but David, blissfully unaware, stepped obligingly out of the room. It was silent for a few moments, and I turned my gaze uneasily onto my hands, suddenly aware of the contrast between my own appearance and that of the man next to me.

I had never been a particularly beautiful girl but neither had I ever considered myself unattractive – now I was painfully aware of the waxy cast to my complexion, the sharp thrust of my cheekbones, my cropped hair, and the shadow-ringed eyes that looked far too big for my face. Next to the Doctor's own healthy vitality, I seemed even more a waif, wasted away and sickly.

"Miss Huddleston?"

"I'm fine," I mumbled. Wanting to change the subject, I added lightly, "So, what's your diagnosis, Doctor? Am I sentenced to more time in bed, or may I finally join the rest of the world?"

I heard him sigh. "As interesting as your hands are, Miss Huddleston, I sincerely doubt that they are going to answer you. My face is up here."

Reluctantly I lifted my head and met his eyes. His lips were tilted, betraying his amusement, but the look in his eyes was grave. "You seem to be recovering well, despite my reservations, and I should think that by tomorrow you'll be fit enough to take an excursion downstairs for a good meal."

His words astonished me, for I hadn't actually expected him to allow me leeway. Downstairs at last – and solid food! I beamed at him, my beauty or lack of it forgotten. "Really? I may?"

"You may," he said, chuckling at my eagerness. "Not too much, mind you; you will get sick if you try to make a glutton of yourself."

I was so pleased by the notion of actual food again that I wasn't even embarrassed by his not-too-subtle comment on my appetite. "I can't wait to get out of this room! Do you think I might go out on the porch for awhile?"

"One thing at a time," he cautioned me. "Let's see how you handle this trip before even considering going outside. If there aren't any ill effects from the excursion, then yes, I believe sitting out on the porch for a spell won't hurt you any, provided you're supervised by Alice or Grantland or me."

I had a sudden impulse to hug him, but I had neither the courage nor the strength for it. He accepted my thanks reluctantly, seeming uneasy with my effusiveness, and it occurred to me for the first time that perhaps something else besides his tentative acknowledgment of higher healing troubled him.

I have never considered myself equipped with any extraordinary powers of perception, but a flash of insight – possibly from Providence, possibly from my own improved understanding of the man before me – granted me a picture of what had happened: Dr. MacNeill harbored feelings of guilt for my illness, for having pushed me into work and consequently increasing my exposure to the disease.

It was a ridiculous thing to be ashamed of, for we at the mission had volunteered our services in the first place, as was our duty as a house of God, but somehow, as I watched him put away his instruments, I knew that it was true.

Tentatively, I reached out and touched one large hand which rested atop the covers as he started to rise from his chair. I felt him startle at my touch – I opened my mouth, not knowing yet what I would say, but trusting that I would have the words...and a loud knock on the door made us both jump.

I hastily let go of his hand as Miss Ida stepped inside, carrying my lunch tray. I had been weaned slowly off my liquid diet, and the deliciously seasoned beef stew atop the platter looked wonderfully appetizing. Dr. MacNeill retreated to the window as Miss Ida came in and set the tray down on my small desk in the corner. My eyes, however, were not on the food.

The Doctor stood against a backdrop of noon sunshine, light and shadow cutting sharply across his figure. I studied his face, truly _looked_ at him for the first time. It was a hard, rugged countenance, but I had noticed that from the first – square-jawed, with a stubborn chin; a rather nondescript nose lifted by a slight Roman bump at the end; a high, broad forehead which contrasted sharply with his sensitive mouth; those hazel eyes, which I had always coveted for their fascinating blend of green, blue and brown.

And, of course – I smiled to myself at this last observation – there were his untamable sandy-red curls, which were forever bouncing off in all directions and resisted every assault of comb or brush. More than once, my fingers had itched to take up a pair of scissors and crop those locks to a more manageable length.

His was not a handsome face; it was too weathered and angular to be graced with that appellation – it was the face of a mountain man, someone who lived a simple, often harsh life but was all the stronger in mind, spirit, and body for the hardship.

Dr. MacNeill stepped over toward the door, pausing to let Miss Ida bring in a pot of tea, and I gave in to the sudden impulse to call him back. With his eyes on me, I suddenly found myself at a loss for words. After an ungainly pause, up came the dreaded eyebrow, arching high above its fellow, and my cheeks, in turn, filled with color.

"Yes, Miss Huddleston?"

"Spit it out," Miss Ida said helpfully. "You have a tongue. Use it."

I scowled at her; the gesture swept right over her head, for she calmly continued steeping the tea leaves in the pot. Dr. MacNeill's muffled chuckle was enough to spur me into action.

"If you aren't too busy, you can stay and share my lunch with me. Miss Ida brought up more than enough." Surprise registered on his face, and I blushed another three shades of red. "Well, I...I thought it might be nice."

He regarded me narrowly, as if attempting to read my eyes, which I quickly cast down toward the floor. "If you can bear up my company, I would be honored."

His acceptance startled me. I knew what little taste he had for company, particularly here at the mission, and I had fully expected him to refuse even as I tendered the offer.

If Miss Ida was also taken aback, she didn't show it. With perfect aplomb, she whisked out another bowl and spoon and dipped a ladle into the stew tureen. "Help yourselves," she said succinctly. "If you need more, there's a pot of it put to boil on the stove."

The Doctor and I thanked her, and I started to pull back the covers when a quandary presented itself. I clutched the quilts to my chest, blushing fiercely once more. "Miss Ida?"

She turned, and seeing my predicament, rolled her eyes in disgust. Dr. MacNeill politely turned his back, pretending to study the view outside while Ida helped me slip into a modest housecoat to cover my nightgown.

"There," Miss Ida said crisply, tying the robe's ribboned sash tightly around my waist. "That ought to preserve your sensibilities, if not your virtue."

The Doctor made a curious sound, half-cough, half-snort, and I turned to glare at his back. "Thank you, Miss Ida," I said meekly, shoving my feet into a pair of Miss Alice's carpet slippers. David's sister merely nodded and then marched briskly out the door to return to the kitchen.

As soon as Ida's footsteps receded down the stairs, Dr. MacNeill moved to the other side of the bed and offered me his arm with all the gallantry of an Asheville swell. He helped me sit down at the makeshift table before fetching the chair from my bedside and bringing it over to seat himself across from me.

Lifting the lid of the tureen, he peered inside, inhaled, and smiled. "If it tastes as good as it smells, we may have to take up Ida's offer for more." Without further delay, he dished us generous portions and divvied up the silverware. I folded my hands for the blessing and then noticed that the Doctor had already taken up his spoon. There was an awkward pause, and he set the utensil down, leaning back. "Pardon me, Miss Huddleston. Go on."

I looked at him suspiciously, wondering if he meant to mock me, but he appeared perfectly sincere, if a bit uncertain. I offered up a brief prayer, surprised yet again as he bowed his head respectfully while I spoke.

"Tea?" I asked, as we tucked into our meal with vigor.

"I don't suppose you have anything stronger?"

I responded to the teasing note in his voice. "Fresh out of moonshine, I'm afraid."

"Tea will have to do then."

I reached over to pour him a cup and had to struggle to suppress a laugh. Miss Ida had brought up the spare tea set, a ridiculously delicate collection of dainty willow-patterned china that had been sent in one of the donation crates delivered earlier in the year. It was too fragile for use at the table, so Miss Ida had disdainfully tucked it back into the cabinet for use when the other, more practical set was unavailable. She had been serving me with this set for the past week in the interest of sanitation and perhaps partly in the hope that I would break a few of the cups and give her an excuse to get rid of the entire lot.

I handed the tiny cup to him and he grasped it awkwardly, barely able to fit even one of his fingers through the filigreed handle. I bit back a giggle, and his own smile warmed in response to mine. "Cutter Gap doesn't hold to the notion of high tea, Miss Huddleston," he said.

"I suppose not." I took a sip, peering through my lashes at him from over the rim. He was watching me attentively, cup suspended, forgotten, halfway to his lips. I felt a wave of giddy joy...but more importantly, a burgeoning feeling of hope.

For today, at least, I could ignore the fact that I must look positively ridiculous – a pale-faced, rail-thin, nearly bald-headed girl flirting over tea like any good Carolina belle; I could overlook the complications with David and Miss Alice, the weakness that still afflicted me, the uncertainties in my future. At the moment, I was simply enjoying an hour's uninterrupted tête-à-tête with Doctor MacNeill – and that was enough.

* * *

_A/N: Ah, a little romance for our favorite physician -- lucky Christy! We need more Neil MacNeills in the world, don't you think? ; ) Thanks for the feedback, and constructive criticism is always welcome!  
_

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	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, I went downstairs for the first time, an achievement that was celebrated by my friends as if I had discovered a way to turn dirt into gold. Dr. MacNeill and David assisted me down the staircase, each one holding onto an arm, but even so, when I finally made it to the bottom I was breathless.

David led me to the head of the table. A bouquet of lovely wildflowers was arranged in one of Miss Alice's crystal vases, and my chair was gaily decorated with ribbon and plenty of cushions – the handiwork of Ruby Mae, who was standing in the doorway, beaming at us.

She reached out to hug me, teary-eyed. "Lordy, it's good ter see ye up an' about agin, Miz Christy," she said brightly. "When Miz Alice said they was gonna hold ye a little jollification, Will and me wanted ter do somethin' nice fer ye." She gestured a little shyly behind her, and I noticed her husband standing back next to Miss Ida, smiling sheepishly. He was holding a folded quilt, and at Ruby Mae's words, he thrust it eagerly into her hands.

Ruby Mae quickly unfolded it, revealing a deep blue background, studded with yellow stars and a big silver moon nestled high in the corner, and topped off with a border of dainty lavender and snowdrops. "Missus Spencer learned me ter sew," she explained. "This here was one she gave me as a 'zample, and I reckoned ye'd like ter have it ter remind ye of her." Gently she pressed it into my hands.

I fingered the soft cloth and felt my throat tighten with emotion. The quilt bore Fairlight's perfectly neat, straight stitches, and I could almost see my friend out on the porch, laboring patiently over her sewing to make something beautiful out of something ordinary. "Ruby Mae," I said hoarsely, "I couldn't take something that Fairlight gave you."

"Nah," the girl said quietly, "I reckon she woulda wanted ye ter have it. Anyways, I have another one that me and Missus Spencer was workin' on together afore she got sick. Ye oughta have somethin' purty ter remember her by."

I clutched the precious quilt to my chest, my eyes filling with tears. "Ruby Mae, I don't know what to say. No one has ever given me such a lovely gift. Thank you."

Ruby Mae was delighted by my pleasure. "Ooh, that's right fine of ye ter say, but it tweren't no trouble at all, were it, Will?"

Will shook his head.

I was at a loss for words, and I felt Miss Alice's hand on my shoulder, steadying and comforting. Taking a deep breath, I brushed away my tears. "I'll treasure this, Ruby Mae, Will. Thank you so much."

Never one to allow too much sentimentality in her domain, Miss Ida presently announced that dinner was served, and we all sat together around the table to enjoy her famous fried chicken, potatoes, cornbread, applesauce, and a glazed cherry pie for dessert. Miss Alice portioned my own plate herself, careful to choose items which wouldn't send my stomach into a revolt. Even so, the solid food tasted marvelous, and the platters between us rapidly emptied. Will especially ate with a delight to satisfy Ida's well-deserved vanity – he was already on his third helping, which Ruby Mae noticed with some chagrin.

"Oh, bother, Will, ye look like ye ain't ate nuthin' in a month," she said, sounding a little petulant. "I know I ain't much of a cook, but ye ain't starved neither."

"Ruby Mae, that ain't it a'tall," he said soothingly, with the practice of a man used to his wife's frets and temper. "The long walk here just 'bout did me in, ye see – I'm awful hungry, 'tis all."

She smiled, placated, and turned her attention back to her own plate. Will caught my eye and winked, and I lifted my napkin to hide a grin. Ruby Mae's husband was a raw-boned, lanky boy, with long arms and legs and a lean build – if one was judging by appearance alone, it did indeed seem as though the poor fellow wasn't able to stomach his wife's cooking.

The meal continued pleasantly, the conversation lively and full of laughter. My spirits rose, and I listened contentedly to Ruby Mae's latest store of Cove news. Much to my surprise, David had a little gossip of his own to share.

"Bird's-Eye is staying in the Cove," he informed me quietly, as we finished our pie.

I looked at him in astonishment. "Bird's-Eye Taylor?"

David laughed. "How many other Bird's-Eyes do you know?"

"I thought Gentry Long had taken him in for Tom's murder."

He looked at me queerly. "No, Christy – Lundy shot Tom, remember? Miss Alice knew."

I didn't remember; that long-ago conversation was a fog in my mind. "Oh, of course."

David eyed me cautiously for a moment, and then his expression eased. "It's not surprising that you don't remember, Christy. You collapsed a moment after Miss Alice told us, after all."

"Did I?"

He smiled crookedly. "It was a bit of a shock. One minute you were standing there, talking with us, and the next you were laid out on the floor. You took Ida's cut-crystal lamp with you too."

"I did?"

"Yup. We were still finding shards in the rug for a week afterwards. You have impeccable aim, Christy."

I elbowed him in the side. "I'll have to replace it. I know how much Miss Ida loved that lamp."

David made a careless gesture. "Let it be. That old thing was useless." He scooped up a last forkful of pie. "Why are we talking about my sister's heirlooms anyway? Don't you want to hear about Bird's-Eye?"

"Since I suspect you want badly to tell me, sure."

He grinned. "He came back again to the mission while you were sick; you'll never guess what he did."

"What?"

"I could hardly believe it myself."

"What?"

"Guess."

"David!"

"Oh, alright, keep your wig on. Mr. Taylor came to the mission after he heard that you'd fallen ill; he offered to help with whatever else we needed done. I mean, it was shocking enough that he'd volunteered to help before Lundy died, but to do it again? I thought maybe he was just trying to get out of the grip of the Revs, but he proved me wrong, Christy.

"The man helped with all the chores around the mission and even took to keeping watch over the sickrooms, since Dr. MacNeill..." David cleared his throat. "...since he was so occupied in looking after you. Bird's-Eye stayed all through the week, working as hard as any person there, until Dr. MacNeill sent the other typhoid patients home, and then he disappeared back into the mountains without a word of explanation."

I digested this startling information. "You're sure this is Bird's-Eye _Taylor_ we're talking about?"

"Positive." David paused to swallow a mouthful of coffee. "He's changed, Christy. After Lundy died...well...the fight seemed to go out of him. I think he cared more than he let on."

"Of course he cared." Despite his belief in harsh discipline and his conviction that Lundy was 'addlepated and twitter-witted,' Bird's-Eye was still a father. The death of his son would naturally hit him hard, and it didn't surprise me to hear that he had lost some of his fervor for stirring up trouble. The thing that did astonish me was his continued presence at the mission once Lundy was gone. Bird's-Eye Taylor hated the church and its work.

"Do you think he might...Did you ask if he would come? To services, I mean."

"Now _that_ would be a miracle." He shook his head. "I offered, but he refused. I didn't expect anything drastic from him, Christy – for now, it's enough that he made peace with us. I don't think any stills will be up and running for awhile."

"Good." I hesitated. "David, I've been wondering...you _have_ decided to drop the charges, haven't you? I mean, since Miss Alice knows that Lundy shot Tom, you won't let the Revs put Bird's-Eye in jail, will you? I know you wanted to, but...but all things considered, don't you think he deserves a fair chance? Please say you'll think about it."

David didn't question my insistence, but the sideways glance he gave me was quizzical. "I already have, Christy. I won't insist on punishment. He's paid the price for his actions twice over."

I pondered this thought, and amazingly, realized I felt pity for the grizzled old mountain man. He may have attempted to terrorize us, to intimidate our parishioners, and to ship illegal liquor all over the Cove, but I remembered what Opal had told me about him, about the quiet Taylor boy he had once been.

Time had certainly thrown plenty of things in his way to harden him; I knew his wife had left him and died in the city, and that she had taken two of their children with her, children who had simply disappeared into the indifferent bustle of the Nashville crowds. It was no secret either that his own father had been an abusive man with an impossible temper, or that his mother had died young from childbed fevers.

But then, in these mountains, so beautiful but so cruel, his story was not all that remarkable. I had seen death and sickness and violence erode away many a family, touching even my students with their taint of hopelessness. The seemingly futile efforts of the mission versus hundreds of years of tradition had discouraged me, but after nearly a year and with a better comprehension of the mountain lifestyle, I understood that these hardships, which might seem so unfair to me, were simply another struggle that the highlanders used to survive. Without anything to strengthen the bonds between families and neighbors, they could not preserve their ways; the outside world would overcome them, and, although improving their lives was a part of the mission's aim, their unique culture, their character, their courage and perseverance, would all be destroyed in the name of progress.

"Are you feeling unwell, Miss Huddleston?" I looked up, startled, to find Dr. MacNeill watching me intently. "Perhaps this was too much at once."

"I'm fine," I assured him, "just a little tired from all the excitement."

He smiled. "I hate to spoil your fun, but if you are a bit worn out, you'd best be off to bed again. There's no purpose in ruining all this progress by overdoing it."

I gave a token protest, but my heart wasn't much in it. I _was_ tired and more than ready to return to the comfort of my room. I bid goodbye to the Becks, David and Ida, and the Doctor, thanking them for a lovely afternoon. Miss Alice escorted me upstairs and helped me change and spread Fairlight's starry quilt over my bed.

"You have had an eventful day," my companion remarked, sitting behind me on the mattress to braid what was left of my hair. "I hope you will rest well tonight, and perhaps tomorrow you may come down again to break your fast with us."

"I hope so too. I can't wait to return to school. I miss the children so."

"One thing at a time," Miss Alice reminded me, echoing Dr. MacNeill's words. "The children will wait for you to return to health; there is no hurry."

I swung my legs under the covers and burrowed back against the pillows with a sigh of pure pleasure. "I know that I'm in no condition to teach all day yet, but I'm an impatient person, Miss Alice. Pay no mind to me."

"Dear child," she said warmly, "I believe you will soon be back at the schoolhouse. Your impatience may not serve you well by itself, but it may provide you with the determination to recover with more haste. Say what thee will – I shall not judge."

I looked up into the Quaker woman's face, marveling not for the first time how a person could look so mild and yet so confident at the same time. "I know you won't, but you may quickly tire of my whining."

"Not whining – you merely voice your opinions."

We smiled at each other, and she reached out to tuck the covers around me. "Good night, Miss Huddleston." She paused. "Tomorrow, perhaps we can give your parents a call."

"That would be lovely." I snuggled under the quilts as Miss Alice blew out the lamp. "Goodnight," I said sleepily.

She stopped in the doorway to look back at me. "Sleep well, Christy."

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews; and Christyfiction, I LOVE the TV series! I only wish it could have run for more than two seasons, but I did think that the movie-Neil was different from the novel-Neil. Don't get me wrong – Stewart did a fabulous job, and his acting turned me into a squealing Neil fangirl – but in the series Dr. MacNeill was angsty, aggressive, and short-tempered (although some of that may have been due to Mags coming back from the dead. _:O_). In the novel, MacNeill is quieter, has a great sense of humor, is confident to the point of conceit, and has an endless supply of patience, which irritates the dickens out of the impulsive Christy. :D __As far as I can remember, the only time Christy ever gets a view of his temper is when he explodes at David over the moonshine fiasco. _

_I think that's partly why Neil and Christy are so compatible. He has extra years of experience and is realistic to a fault, a nice counterbalance to Christy's wide-eyed, naive idealism. His maturity offsets her recklessness, whereas David – who's as immature as she is – muddles into stupid things and drags Christy down with him. At the same time, Christy's innocence and fresh eagerness for life balance out Neil's tendency to be cynical – she deflates his oversized ego quite well, IMHO, at least. _

_Okay, I'm getting off my soapbox now. ; ) Any thoughts on Novel-Neil vs. Series-Neil?  
_

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	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

MY FATHER ANSWERED the telephone the next morning. David helped me get the operator and connect to Asheville, and I was so pleased to hear Father's familiar voice that all the exertion of the past week seemed inconsequential; every frustration was worth it when it had helped make this call possible.

After waiting a moment for the difficult connection to go through, I listened as a few rings sounded and the telephone was picked up. "You have reached the Huddleston residence, this is John Huddleston," I heard my father say.

"Daddy?" I cried.

There was a brief, incredulous silence. "Girlie? Christy, love, is that you?" He sounded hoarse, either from emotion or the fuzzy telephone line.

"It's me, Daddy," I said, feeling the threat of tears surface even at the sound of his voice; oh, how I missed him! The sudden longing I felt for home was so sharp and strong that it was an almost physical ache.

"Girlie...it's such a joy to hear your voice," he said earnestly. "Your mother and George and I have missed you terribly; we were so afraid that..." He cut himself off, and again I wondered how they had borne it, fearing that I was dying so many miles away.

"I'm fine, Daddy," I replied, moving closer to the receiver as if I could somehow be nearer to him. "I really am. I feel much better – I'm eating well – and Doctor MacNeill allowed me to be up and out of bed again. Please don't worry; I'm better, truly."

I heard my father chuckle weakly. "I believe you, Girlie, but I would feel better hearing it from the doctor himself. Your mother and I have been so concerned."

Dr. MacNeill was away on a call, but Miss Alice was sitting nearby with her sewing; her serene manner would calm my father's fears, no doubt. "Just a minute, Daddy; Miss Alice is here. She can tell you." I made the request of her promptly, and with a knowing smile, she obligingly took up the receiver. "Mr. Huddleston? Yes, this is Alice Henderson...I can assure you that Miss Huddleston is well on her way to a complete recovery...Her fever ran very high and long, but all signs of it are gone now...Dr. MacNeill – yes, the doctor you spoke with last week – he is certain that there is no reason at all to expect a relapse...Pardon?...Oh, no, no, I understand entirely...Yes, it is...I shall thank him for you when he returns..."

They spoke for a few minutes longer, and then Miss Alice said goodbye and returned the line to me. My father sounded much more relieved, more cheerful, and we finished our conversation before he informed me that my mother was standing impatiently next to him, waiting to pounce on the telephone the instant he stopped talking. I laughed in delight, unable to imagine my proper and reserved mother doing any such thing.

"I had better let her talk, Girlie," he said, _sotto voce._ "Julia will never forgive me if I do not surrender the telephone soon." He paused. "I love you, Girlie. Take care of yourself."

"I love you too, Daddy."

I heard some shuffling and soft murmurs, and then my mother spoke. "Christy, darling?"

For a moment it was almost as if she was in the room with me, the lavender water she always wore delicately perfuming the air, her lovely face mild in repose as she worked on her accounts or her petit point. I reiterated all the assurances and affectionate words I had said to my father, and I knew, from the peculiar silences and sounds that occasionally reached me from her end, that she was crying, and I felt my own eyes fill in response.

"You will come home, won't you?" she asked finally, hopefully, just as I knew she would. "For a visit, at least? Please, Christy, come home for a month or two. We would come to you, but you know how your father's business schedule is. You would be able to recover better after some time in the city, and you could be seen by our physician, just to be sure. It would be for the best, darling."

I found, to my amazement, that the prospect was not so unappealing as it had been before my illness. I thought nostalgically of home – of my parents, of George and all my friends, of my bedroom and the magnolia tree outside my window – and suddenly a trip to Asheville seemed like a marvelous idea.

Turning around to sit on the stool David had thoughtfully placed nearby, I saw that Miss Alice was watching me. She must have seen the confusion on my face, for she smiled gently and nodded. As if it had been a signal, all of my indecision fled away. "I would love to come home for a visit, Mother," I said enthusiastically. "Dr. MacNeill will have to give me permission, but it should not take too many more days, I think, until I can travel."

By the stunned silence on the other end of the line, I knew that she had expected me to refuse and had prepared a sound argument to convince me otherwise. "Why, Christy, I...That is delightful news...Of course, you'll give us a call when your plans are fixed?"

I giggled at her discomposure. "I'll call the instant I know," I promised.

We spent another half-hour chatting about nothing of consequence – more for the purpose of hearing each other's voices. It was a tenuous bond at best, but somehow I felt as though the lonely distance between Cutter Gap and Asheville had shortened. And when we finally said goodbye, I did not feel the crushing sadness that I had anticipated. I would see my parents soon, after all – and they would no longer have to fret about my health. It was a relief on both sides.

I hung up the telephone, aware of how exhausting the entire process had been, and Miss Alice appeared at my side, propping me up steadily. "Come upstairs, child, and rest for a while before we sup."

I did not argue, allowing her to help me up the staircase to my room and under the quilts on my bed. I slept for over an hour and awoke feeling refreshed. Descending the stairs, I discovered that the parlor was deserted, as was the kitchen – everyone must have taken advantage of the mild weather; and as I slowly made my way to the front door, the sunshine beckoned to me so appealingly that I decided that I would join them outside.

Wrapping up in a quilt from the settee in case someone might have a mind to scold me for chancing to catch a chill, I walked out onto the porch and sat in one of the rockers. The air was clean and crisp, and I inhaled the smoky scent of pine with an almost ridiculous joy; the scents of carbolic acid and lye soap and other unmentionable smells that had pervaded the mission house during the epidemic still lingered with me, as though to remind me of the destruction that had lately hit this beautiful scene before my eyes. Most awful was the peculiar dead-mouse stench of the typhoid itself – I remembered how it had struck me when I first walked into the Spencer cabin to find Fairlight so desperately sick.

I shook my head to clear away those depressing thoughts. Now was not the time for me to dwell on death – I had so much to live for, to be grateful for. I hoped I would never forget that, for I knew that if I did, all the wonderful and fearful things I had learned here in the mountains would come to nothing.

The clip of hoofbeats suddenly intruded on my self-reproof, and I peeked over the fold of my quilt to see Dr. MacNeill briskly trotting toward me on Charlie. I smiled in welcome, and he grinned back and reined in his horse, lifting up a bulky flour sack in one hand to show me.

"Hullo, Christy – I was up on Pebble Mountain this morning and one of my patients paid me in snapbeans. I've not much taste for them myself, but I happen to know Alice likes snapbean soup. I thought I would bring them over."

I watched him dismount and bound up the steps to join me on the porch. "That's very thoughtful of you, Doctor," I said, gesturing hopefully at the chair next to me. "I'm sure we will enjoy them."

He set the sack down by the door and accepted my unsubtle invitation. "Well, they would've gone to waste otherwise. I see you're taking in the air – and without your doctor's permission."

"I feel perfectly fine! I didn't think my every movement would have to be approved..." I broke off as he started to laugh.

"I'm only teasing, Miss Huddleston. I'm pleased that you feel steady enough on your feet to venture out of doors; the fresh air will do you as much good as any medicine."

"Oh." I felt a little foolish for my outburst.

He settled himself more comfortably into the chair, scuffing his muddy boots against the pristine floorboards – Miss Ida would have fits when she saw them.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" I said, more to fill the silence than anything else. The highlanders seemed as comfortable with gaps in conversation as Miss Alice, but I had not yet accustomed myself to it. "But when is it not? These mountains are always a sight to see – especially right at sunrise. I never used to wake up early back home, but here, the view from my room is enough to get me out of bed in the morning." I giggled weakly, knowing that I was rambling, but the Doctor didn't appear to hear me anyway. His attention was fixed out on the misty peaks I had been admiring.

The mountains gleamed blue and green and grey, streaked with deeper hues under the leafy covering of trees and grass: faint red, golden yellows, and dark violet, all mixing together with the bright summer sky and white-washed glow of the clouds to make a stunning portrait. I understood now why Miss Alice said that earth was closest to heaven in the Great Smokies – there was something ethereal in this natural splendor.

My eyes dropped away from the magnificent sight and fell instead on Charlie, who was rootling around lazily in the nearby field grass. Dr. MacNeill's black-leather medicine case was slung over the saddle horn. "Have you been out on your rounds, Doctor? I hope no one else is sick?"

The sound of my voice startled him, but he recovered his composure quickly. "Ah, yes and no – I've been in Low Gap and Cataleechie to check on a few patients, but all of them are recuperating nicely. No new cases of typhoid since you fell ill."

"That's good." I eyed him narrowly; the lines of exhaustion on his face had lessened. Perhaps he had managed to catch up on his sleep at last.

The Doctor smiled at me a bit self-consciously but said nothing.

"It never ceases to amaze me," I added softly, turning my sights back onto the ridge, "that beauty can be found in the most unexpected places. To think that this was all created just for us – and so perfectly! God must be very artistic."

He chuckled. "Do you think so?"

His laughter warmed me. "I do."

"It is remarkable, isn't it?" he mused, almost to himself. "I grew up in this place, saw these same sights every day for years and years...and yet it always seems new, somehow – and compelling." He paused and withdrew a pipe from his pocket. It was a new pipe. I remembered that his favorite, the one with the engraved silver band, had broken that night he called me back, its shattered stem lying forgotten atop my bed. "I tried to leave once, when I went to medical school. I had big dreams then, dreams of city life and success and fame." He pinched out a measure of tobacco and tamped it carefully into the bowl. "But I couldn't stay away from Cutter Gap. No matter how many times I left, I kept coming home."

"I know exactly what you mean. This place gets in your blood," I said.

He struck a match against the heel of his boot. "I guess it does." For a minute, we were both quiet, the only sound the puffing of the Doctor's breath as he tried to keep the tobacco lit. As soon as he had gotten it burning to his satisfaction, he leaned back and sighed.

Although we had certainly argued enough in the past, Dr. MacNeill and I had never actually _talked_, not about ourselves, at least, and I was desperate to know more about him. Since he seemed so unusually open today, I was loath to let the opportunity go to waste. "Have you ever regretted practicing here in the Cove?"

He drew thoughtfully on the pipe for a moment. "No, not really. There are some days, I suppose, when I wonder what might have happened if I'd stayed in Philadelphia or Baltimore, but I imagine it all turned out for the best."

"Of course it did. What would we do without you?"

"Everyone would manage. They managed before without a doctor, and they'd probably squeak by somehow without one again." He hesitated. "They would feel the loss of your school more. I always thought you would take this place by storm if you were given the chance."

"Liar."

I could see that I'd surprised him once more – he laughed aloud. "I beg your pardon, Miss Huddleston. I should have said I _almost_ always thought you could. Better?"

I nodded with great dignity.

"In the beginning, I assumed you wouldn't last a month – just another pampered city girl, come to teach the poor, ignorant mountain people." His eyes softened as he watched me. "You proved me wrong, Christy."

Neil MacNeill was not a man to hand out compliments lightly, and his simple words of praise flattered and confused me. "I...thank you."

He lowered his eyes, perhaps a bit embarrassed – I received the strong impression that he hadn't meant to say so much. The thumb of his right hand absently rubbed the smooth curve of the pipe bowl, and one boot began tapping a nervous rhythm on the floor. He opened his mouth to say something, promptly snapped it shut, shifted in his seat, and glanced over at me a little helplessly.

"What is it?" I prodded.

"I..." He cleared his throat. "Have you – have you ever felt like something you were sure about suddenly...well, suddenly changed? I mean, that you thought you understood something, and then it just, just sort of came crashing down around you?" He half-snorted, half-groaned, and tugged impatiently on the curls at his nape. "I'm not making a whit of sense, am I?"

"You mean when you change your mind about something?" It was all I could do to speak calmly – was he hinting at what I thought he was? "Of course I understand. People make mistakes."

"No, more than that," he said slowly. "Like a conviction – say, something happens and you can't explain it away with logic or rationalization or solid facts, but you know that it was real and," he groped for the right word, "and affecting."

My heart was pounding. "Faith and human logic don't always go hand-in-hand. In fact, they hardly ever do, at least in my experience."

His eyes widened. "You heard me."

There was no point in dissembling. "Yes."

"Oh." Dr. MacNeill looked down fixedly at his cooling pipe, the fire quickly dying out in the brisk warm wind. "I...well, this makes things a bit more complicated."

My heart sank. Was he regretting what he said that night? Had I misunderstood him somehow?

He cleared his throat. "Uh...what exactly did you hear?"

"I heard you pray for my life."

"And that was all?"

I'll never know what possessed me to say what I did next. "Yes."

"Oh. I...I see." I couldn't tell whether he was relieved or not. We were both quiet for a long, awkward moment that was broken at last as he spoke.

"I told you once that I wasn't the one to save you, and I meant it." He held my eyes, completely serious. "You died, Christy. Honest to God, you died right there in front of me. Your heart had stopped beating, your pulse was gone, you were unresponsive...there was nothing I could do, _nothing_ I could give you to bring you back. My medicines were useless; all my training, useless..." He cut himself off, caught up in the emotional grip of his memories.

For my part, I was horrified to realize how close I really had come to joining Fairlight at the river. No one, not the Doctor or Miss Alice or David, had told me that I had been in that critical a condition. I inched my chair closer to his, reaching out to lightly touch his forearm. "And so you prayed."

"I can't say what made me do it – it was a natural response, I guess. My parents were religious, and I was raised up with Bible stories and church. Once they were gone...well, I've told you about my reasons before, but that day, I...I was humbled by it, that for all my talk of trusting in science and my own abilities, I was unable to help you; and all at once I was praying. I had to. I didn't have any control over it...over anything." He grinned nervously. "I'm sorry. I'm making a muddle of this."

"No, you're not," I cried, unconsciously tightening my grasp on his arm. "Not at all."

"In any case, you're the one who can tell me what happened next," he said, "because before I knew it, you were awake and smiling up at me like nothing had happened at all – breathing normally again, fever gone, as if you'd never been sick..." He laughed shakily. "I'd never been so happy to see those big blue eyes of yours."

I felt heat rush up into my cheeks, but he didn't seem to realize what he'd said.

"I couldn't explain it away, Christy. I didn't want to explain it away. It was a miracle, plain and simple. You know as well as I that there are no medicines or surgical procedures to bring someone back from the dead."

"Have you..." I hesitated. "Did you —?"

"To be honest, Christy, I've been turning these things around in my mind for awhile. Something you said to me once..." He smiled at me. "Do you remember? It was that day in the schoolhouse."

I moaned and then laughed. "How could anything I said then possibly have left an impression? I made such a fool out of myself."

"Well, you weren't exactly articulate," he admitted, "but there was one thing you said: 'But what if it turns out to be the most important thing there is?' You have no idea how much that kept bothering me. I couldn't seem to let it go."

"Really? I was sure I'd lost that particular round to your cool reasoning, Doctor." I snorted. "I don't think I'd ever been so angry in my life."

He was quiet for a moment. "I ought to apologize for challenging you that way."

"You don't need to. It helped me realize that I didn't have any idea what I believed in. I _was_ hanging on Miss Alice's coattails, just like you said. It gave me the opportunity to examine things for myself for the first time and come into my own faith – not my pastor's, or Miss Alice's, or Dr. Ferrand's – it was mine. Even then, it wasn't until after Fairlight's death that I came to understand who God was."

I could see that he was struggling with something. "Christy, how did you know that – that it was God?"

"Love," I said simply. "That's what He is."

He nodded, running an unsteady hand across his face. "After all these years...I laughed at you and Grantland, you know; and as much as I respect Alice, I thought she was foolish for spouting that nonsense about a loving God. A loving God wouldn't let children die from their parents' ignorance or men kill each other over a jug of whiskey. He wouldn't let people starve to death because they were too stubborn to accept help, or have them slog out filthy, miserable livings in this kind of poverty. What sort of a God would? There's so much pain, Christy, and I saw so much of it." He sighed. "But you were right. I felt it. As soon as I prayed, it was like...I can't describe it. But I knew. I _knew_. And I felt that love. I still don't understand it all, why things happen like they do – but I know that Alice's nonsense is true. He is there, and He is love."

My throat was thick with tears. "Have you been...have you talked with anyone?"

"With Alice, a few times." He grinned. "She's been after me for years, you know – but I couldn't believe because someone wanted me to. It's like you said: it had to be mine."

I didn't trust myself to speak – I was brimming with so much joy, and I was so very proud of him, proud that he had the courage to take a leap of faith and then admit it to others, to me. I knew my face must be alight with my admiration, but I didn't say a word because I knew it would embarrass him. Besides, he didn't need my approval – this was between God and Dr. MacNeill.

"Do you think everyone would be too shocked if I showed up for the service on Sunday?" he asked me. "I don't think I've set foot in a church meeting for a decade."

"There you are!" Miss Ida's stern voice trumpeted from the doorway. "I thought you'd gone and run out on us – inside with you now. You've been out too long, and the last thing I need is you sick again...oh, Doctor, I didn't see you. Are you staying for supper tonight?"

"No thank you." He hastily rose and picked up the burlap sack from the floor. "I brought some snapbeans over, and Miss Huddleston and I had a few things to discuss. I'm due over at the O'Teales' soon – Mary only has a bad cold, but with all the sickness we've had here in the Cove, Swannie wants me to take another look."

Miss Ida accepted the bag with curt gratitude and warned me that if I wasn't back in the parlor in five minutes, she would drag me inside herself. With that, she bid the Doctor good day and returned to the kitchen.

"I didn't mean to get you into trouble, Miss Huddleston," Dr. MacNeill said, helping me to my feet.

"That's just Miss Ida," I said.

"In any case, she's right. I've kept you out here too long."

I wrapped the quilt more tightly around me. "I'll go sit in front of the fireplace, and I'll be nice and toasty in no time." I lowered my gaze shyly. "Will you stop by here again soon?"

"I imagine I'll be back before the week is out." He buttoned up his jacket. "Maybe we can have another talk?"

I smiled. "Maybe."

There was a new lightness in his face, and a fresh energy seemed to quicken his step; he gathered up his pipe and clattered down the porch steps, waving one hand in farewell as he strode toward Charlie.

"Doctor MacNeill!" I called after him.

"Yes, Miss Huddleston?"

"I'm glad you prayed."

He was silent for a moment, but then, slowly, a warm smile curled the edges of his mouth. "So am I."

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for all your kind comments and your input on Doc's character -- I always thought he was far more interesting than David. ; ) _

_Christyfiction: I recently joined up on the List and registered at the message board; it's good to know that there are other Christy-enthusiasts out there. Do you happen to know if they have archives or something for past discussions? The site didn't seem to have any, although I know they just recently changed servers. I'd love to find the beginnings of those fanfics. _

_Anyway, lots of chatter in this chapter -- it ran a bit long, sorry. The fact that Christy led the Doctor back to his faith was an aspect of the book that I always loved. Of course, Ms. Marshall doesn't really tell us what happened next, but I can't imagine that Neil could just ignore a life-changing experience like that and go about business as usual, can you?  
_

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

MY JAUNT OUTDOORS hadn't had any adverse effects despite Miss Ida's predictions, and that small success made me impatient to test my strength even further. I felt like myself again: I could eat normally, I could bathe and dress and walk without assistance, and I was hungry for a return to my daily routines.

I had spent the majority of my time downstairs sewing, reading, or doing light chores around the mission house, and Dr. MacNeill said my recovery appeared to be complete, although some weakness still remained and my cropped hair was a blatant reminder of my fragile health.

In spite of frequent visits and constant companionship, I longed to go out and wander the trails and spend a little time alone in the fresh air. In fact, the continuous presence of others in the house, always covertly watching and listening, had begun to wear on me, and I badly wanted some time to myself.

"I think I'll go for a walk today," I announced one morning at the breakfast table.

David glanced up from his plate and grinned. "Is that a hint, Christy? You might have given me some warning – believe it or not, I do actually have some work to do today."

"Oh, no; I don't want you to come along." When Miss Ida's eyebrows shot up, I realized how rude I had sounded. "I didn't mean it like that – your company is always welcome, of course – but I'll be fine by myself today."

"By yourself? Are you crazy? You've only just gotten out of bed!"

"Dr. MacNeill gave me permission," I shot back.

"He gave you permission to return to your schedule_ slowly_," David stressed. "I didn't hear him say anything about hiking all over the mountains."

"I wouldn't go far – maybe just to the Spencers' place. I've been wanting to see the children all week."

"The Spencer cabin is too far away, Christy. You'd never make it there." David twisted in his chair to face Miss Alice, who was sitting silently at the head of the table. "Alice, tell her."

She lowered her coffee cup deliberately. "Tell her what, David?"

He made an impatient gesture. "That she's insane to think she can tramp all the way over to Lonesome Pine Ridge by herself!"

"I am not insane," I said firmly. "I feel great, and I'm tired of being caged up in the house. I just want a little time to think. Is that so strange?"

"It is when you've just had typhoid! Alice, say something!"

Miss Alice studied me briefly. "Do be careful, Christy. We'll expect you back by noon."

I leapt up from my chair and gave her an impulsive hug before hurrying up the stairs to fetch my coat, leaving David behind to sputter and storm.

* * *

BUNDLED UP IN a woolen jacket and hat despite the warmth of the day, I beat a path to the Spencer cabin. I had a powerful desire to see the children again and ensure that Jeb was doing as well as he could. Fairlight's family would always be special to me – I couldn't take her place or soothe the pain that her death had caused, but perhaps in some small way, I could look after them for her.

The morning was crisp, and I soon discarded both the coat and hat, glorying in the feel of the sun on my face. Autumn had melted away into winter, but the frosts hadn't come yet, and the weather was unusually warm. Granny Barclay had predicted a mild winter, which had been a relief to the people of Cutter Gap. The typhoid had drained their strength and resources enough – a harsh winter might have been too much to bear even for them.

The resilience of these mountain families never failed to astound me. I had never known people who accepted hardship with such calm consent. Miss Alice had said it was because they believed in a harsh God – they viewed all problems as punishment for whatever perceived sins they had committed, or simply as the senselessly wrathful actions of an angry and impersonal Supreme Being – but I wondered if necessity hadn't just drained the lofty dreams right out of them.

They weren't soulless by any means, although I had heard them labeled so even by David, and neither were they spiritually ignorant. Fairlight had shown me the beauty that she and many of the others found in nature, in their mountains and rivers and flowers – things that I might have overlooked in the overwhelming deluge of dirt and poverty. To the highlanders, God was connected in every way to the natural wonder around them, majestic but forbidding.

And Opal: I had seen that same glimmer of beauty the day she had offered her hospitality to Bird's-Eye Taylor, a man who, for all she knew, had shot her husband in cold blood. There had been a strength and real glow of faith in her that put me to shame when I remembered how I had regarded her as simple and unaware.

I had been arrogant at first – earnest and eager to serve, yes, but arrogant all the same. I had been like David, wanting to clean up Cutter Gap, wanting to mold its people to my own tastes instead of just loving them as Miss Alice did. It had taken me several months to finally understand and appreciate her philosophy.

I remembered what Dr. MacNeill had said once about love being the most creative force in the universe, and I smiled at the irony. The Doctor, who was (no, I reminded myself, with a little thrill: he _had_ been) the most determined skeptic about the presence of a loving God, had been the only one to agree with Miss Alice's methods. He had been speaking about human love, of course, but it was interesting that both of them understood that change could only come from patience, earned trust, and love.

Dr. MacNeill hadn't come back from medical school and immediately asserted the superiority of his knowledge over his neighbors – he had not demanded their confidence or forced his doctoring on them. No, he had gradually regained his place in the community through gentle persuasion and reassuring action, careful not to push but remaining staunch in his conviction of his skill, and it had resulted in success.

That was exactly what Miss Alice had done with her mission. Instead of preaching hellfire-and-damnation or doggedly arguing the validity of her beliefs over theirs, she built up a relationship with the people first, making the mission one of assistance and acceptance. God's love...that was what Miss Alice demonstrated, and it was the very best witness of all.

I paused halfway along the trail, surprised by how quickly I was tiring. My legs were a little unsteady, and my breathing was already labored. I slowed my pace – the last thing I wanted to do was turn back and give David the satisfaction of being right!

As I moved along, it seemed the moment of weakness passed, and I was able to push on with fresh determination. I distracted myself from the burning in my chest by searching the surrounding brush for familiar plants and flowers; I saw a few that I recognized from my 'berryin' trips with Fairlight.

Despite my attempts to occupy myself, I was shaky by the time I reached the Spencer cabin. The house was quiet, but a window was cracked open to let in the breeze, and Jeb's hounds began baying as soon as I set foot in the yard. I called out a greeting – the door opened and a woman's figure appeared in the threshold.

"Miz Christy? Land sakes, is that you? I didn't think you was outta bed yet."

"Opal?" I climbed the stairs, squinting into the shadow of the overhang curiously; Opal was holding a wooden spoon and bowl, and Little Guy was clinging to her skirt. "Are you visiting too?"

"Yep. Thought I oughta check in on the young'uns. Jeb went off ter hunt a spell, an' he swung round my place ter see if I could look in ter see if everythin' was in order." She absently ruffled the Least'un's pale blond hair. "I decided ter put on a pot of cabbage – Jeb probably won't be back fer a few days. Come in, Miz Christy, and stay awhile." She stepped back so I could enter.

Memories washed over me as I came inside. I hadn't been back to the Spencers' since the night Fairlight died. An eerie sensation crawled up my spine as I saw the patch of sunlight on the ground before the window, where Fairlight had fallen at my feet, begging me to save her from the 'shadder'.

"Miz Christy!" Toot and Vincent, who had obviously accompanied their mother, were soon at my side, and it didn't take long for the Spencer children to discover the source of the disturbance and scurry down from the loft to join us. I accepted their hugs and let Opal steer me to a seat at the table.

Toot squeezed into the chair next to me. "Yer lookin' awful peart now, Teacher."

"Exceptin' yer hair," Lulu piped up.

"Hesh up, Lulu," her brother scolded.

"I think yer hair looks right fine," Zady informed me, patting her own kerchief-covered scalp. "Do ya want a nice cloth like mine ter put on yer head, Teacher? This'un was my Granny Spencer's kerchief, and I have some more, iffen yer wantin' one."

Before I could say a word, she went over to the cornhusk mattress she shared with her sisters and pulled a checkered blue handkerchief out from beneath the pillow. She brought it back to me, her pixie face aglow with excitement. "Here, Miz Christy. This'un's a real nice color – all blue and purty."

I glanced over at Opal and then back at Zady. "It's very beautiful, Zady, but don't you want to wear it?"

"I have this'un already," Zady said. She paused, and her smile wavered. "Don't ya like it, Teacher?"

"I love it," I said sincerely, stroking the soft dyed linen. "Will you help me put it on?"

She became all animation and eagerness again as she helped me tie the cloth around my head to cover the worst of the bald spots. "Thar," she said at last, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "All done, Teacher."

"You done a good job, Zady," Opal commented from her post by the stew pot. "That blue suits Miz Christy jest fine."

I peered into the small cracked mirror that hung over the mantlepiece. "It looks wonderful, Zady. I don't know why I didn't think of covering my hair before."

The girl beamed.

With matters of grooming completed, the children pressed in around me to admire the kerchief and beg for a story. I was prepared, for before I had left the mission house I put a copy of _Aesop's Fables_ in my coat pocket. I had quickly learned that the schoolchildren preferred folk stories and fairy tales to any other forms of literature; no quality was prized more highly in the mountains than the ability to spin a good yarn.

I settled myself more comfortably as the younger children crawled into my lap and the older ones sat down at the table. Even Opal listened in as she went about preparing dinner. I finished half the book before my voice began to grow hoarse; Opal, seeing my difficulty, left the cabbage to simmer over the fire and came to join us. "Might I try fer a spell, Miz Christy? I reckon this could be a readin' lesson, if ye'd like."

I handed over the book gratefully and accepted the glass of persimmon juice Clara brought me. I sipped it slowly and listened to Opal finish the tale of the tortoise and the hare, cuddling Lulu and Least'un close to me. For a moment I was transported to pleasant spring afternoons spent in this manner at the Spencer cabin with Fairlight and the children as she read to them. Only the fact that it was Opal's voice now and not Fairlight's reminded me that I would never enjoy those days again.

Soon Opal came to the end of the book, and I was brought back to the present. I had lost my recollection of time, and it was with some shock that I realized the sun was mid-sky. My brooch watch confirmed that it was twenty minutes past twelve – and I had promised Miss Alice I would be back by noon!

After bidding goodbye to everyone and thanking Zady once more for her gift, I shrugged on my coat and hurried out over the ridge toward the mission. I couldn't believe I had forgotten so easily. David and Miss Alice would be worried, and the last thing I wanted to do was give them more cause for concern.

I ran the distance of the field up past Lonesome Pine, slowing only as I forded the river. All I could think about were David's sharp remonstrances when I arrived back at the mission so late. Miss Alice would never let me go out without supervision again.

I waded through the achingly cold water without much difficulty, but to my surprise, when I reached the bank my knees buckled. Thankfully, I didn't fall hard, although my hands stung and I had to sit on the muddy ground for a minute. My breath was coming out in short gasps, and suddenly I felt very hot. I struggled out of my coat and splashed my face with river water, cursing myself for being so stupid, but my heartbeat gradually quieted and I was able to stand again.

I started to hike more slowly up the hill – still about a mile from mission property – and had nearly gained the top when that odd burning heat began to rise in my face again. I put my hands to my forehead, but it didn't feel hot to the touch. What was wrong with me?

A few steps more, and a strange vertigo took over. I stopped – the dizzying motion in my head didn't. Colors and shapes flashed before my eyes and I tried to cover them, but lights danced along my eyelids and pounded in my head.

My legs bent, and I lost my balance. I tried to grab hold of the nearest tree branch, but the earth tilted and whirled and suddenly I was lying down, the grass cool against my cheek. Shadows were creeping in around the edges of my eyes, my ears were ringing, and I felt oddly heavy.

I cried out for Miss Alice, for David, for Dr. MacNeill, but there was no answer. Blood throbbed in my temples. I closed my eyes, wanting it to stop, wanting to sleep. Something was moving over me, turning me, touching my shoulder, my arm, my head. I tried to reach up and the world exploded with blinding light and then faded into darkness.

* * *

_A/N: Da, da, dummm...! Poor Christy is always getting sick or knocked out or injured in fanfiction. Maybe she's spent too much time around Bob Allen. :D_

_Seriously, did anyone else notice how unlucky that guy was? Let's see: in the series he got popped on the head by a tree, his youngest son fell off a cliff, his children all contracted scarlet fever, and his hand was crushed by a falling millstone. Oh, and in the movies he got shot by Ozias Holt, nearly drowned during a storm, and had his cabin swept away in a flood. Did I miss anything?  
_

_Thanks for the feedback, as always. Your reviews make me happy inside. ; )_

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

MY HEAD ACHED. Hands were gliding over my hair, pressing something cold and damp against my forehead. I stirred and moaned, blinking as my room slowly came into focus. I was in bed, and a candle flickered over on my side table, throwing shadows against the walls. It was dark.

"Christy?"

Miss Alice's soft voice jerked me back into consciousness. I blinked again and turned my head to find the Quaker woman sitting next to me on the mattress. She smiled and put out a hand to remove the cold compress from my forehead. "Are you feeling better?"

"I think so. My head hurts." I tried to lift myself up, but it made the pounding behind my eyes quicken. "What happened?"

"You were allowed to walk to the Spencers' cabin on the condition that you would be careful and not exert yourself," Miss Alice said, with a hint of sternness. "It appears that you ignored that advice, for you fainted on your way back. Fortunately, Mr. Taylor happened upon you and carried you home."

"I fainted? Bird's-Eye carried me here?" I struggled to absorb everything.

"So it would seem. He is downstairs with David now." She pressed the compress against my temples. "Neil says that you won't suffer any lasting damage from this accident, but you were very reckless to continue your walk if you were feeling unwell, Miss Huddleston."

Miss Alice's reprimands were all the more painful for their infrequency. I felt myself flush in shame and embarrassment under her gentle scrutiny. "I...I didn't think I would faint. I was feeling fine at first. I thought I could make it."

She subjected me to a few more minutes of fidgeting silence before replying, "I trust you will never repeat your actions of this afternoon."

"I won't," I said fervently. "I'll be more careful next time."

She sighed and patted my hand. "I know."

Before she could say another word, the door flew open and the Doctor stepped inside. He took in the scene, and I thought that something of relief was in his face as he saw that I was awake – but that momentary tenderness quickly disappeared.

Miss Alice rose from the bed. "Neil, Christy is none the worse for her ordeal." Her voice was purposefully calm. "I think she will only have a headache for a few more hours."

He said nothing, nodding curtly as he crossed the room to his bag, which was sitting on my desk. Miss Alice spared me a sympathetic glance and then left, shutting the door softly behind her.

I watched Dr. MacNeill sort through his medicines, his back turned deliberately to me. I thought it was a rather immature way to express his displeasure – if he believed I was careless, he should tell me so to my face.

"Doctor?" I straightened my shoulders, determined to explain myself. "I really am okay. I just walked a little too far..."

He whirled around, a surprisingly graceful movement for such a large man, and I realized that he hadn't been ignoring me – he had been trying to rein in his temper...and apparently, he had failed.

"What the devil did you think you were doing?" he bit out, his eyes very cold. "I give you permission to stretch your legs a bit, and what do you do? You go traipsing off halfway across the Cove! You've had typhoid, Miss Huddleston, and you aren't completely recovered yet. I _told_ you not to put too much stress on yourself – I _told_ you not to overdo it. But no, you didn't listen and you put yourself at risk because of it!"

I tried to speak up, but he interrupted me, pacing back and forth, windmilling his arms in agitation. "You better than anyone should understand what happens when people ignore my instructions. You could have hit your head, or you might have lost consciousness while you were crossing the river. What would have happened then? You might have drowned!"

"But..."

His big fist slammed down on the windowsill, rattling the pane. "You've already faced death once this month, Miss Huddleston! There's no need to taunt it again!"

I sat mutely as the tirade continued. The words melted together and buzzed in my ears, until I was only aware of a few disjointed words and phrases._ Reckless...foolhardy...refuse to listen to reason...you could have been lying there for days before someone found you...scatter-brained thing to do...ought to lock you in your room...worried us all senseless..._

I finally became aware that the onslaught of words had stopped and the room was silent but for the sound of his harsh breathing. I kept my gaze trained on the handful of quilt I was clutching – my eyes stung, my breath was hitching...I bit my lip in a desperate attempt to delay the inevitable.

The Doctor circled around the bed to face me. "Well? What do you have to say to defend yourself, Miss Huddleston?"

The lash of sarcasm in his voice was too much for me. I looked up into his hard, angry face and did the only thing I could.

I cried.

He skittered backwards at the first barrage of tears, and his expression of shock might have been funny if I hadn't been occupied completely by the muffled sobs that shook me from head to toe. I couldn't seem to slow the tears, and I was so humiliated that I no longer cared whether I stopped at all. I buried my face against my pillow and turned away, curling my knees up to my chest and hugging them close. Let him think me childish too, to add to all my other faults!

I could hear him shuffling nervously back and forth behind me; once or twice his hand came down as though to touch my shoulder, but he quickly drew it back each time before any contact was made. I took some perverse pleasure in having disconcerted him, but it wasn't much of a comfort, for I heard his footsteps retreating and the door opening and then snapping shut.

After a few minutes more I sat up and used my shirtwaist to wipe my face, completely mortified by my behavior. This wasn't how I reacted to a challenge! Dr. MacNeill always seemed to bring out the worst in me – he made me feel like such a child sometimes.

I sniffled and burrowed miserably back into the pillow. I had been stupid to think that he was interested in me. Love was a very general word: his prayer had been a desperate call to God to save my life – maybe he had only been caught up in the emotion of the moment. Oh, I didn't doubt that his change of heart toward God was genuine, but maybe I had misunderstood his intentions toward me. Maybe he didn't love me that way after all. And if he did, how could he possibly love me now?

I closed my eyes, wishing I could undo the events of the day. Why should Dr. MacNeill want me? He didn't need me to lead him back to his faith anymore; he didn't need me to pray with him or encourage him: he had Miss Alice for that now. Obviously he didn't view me as a capable person, let alone as a grown woman.

Besides, I couldn't offer him much myself. I could keep house, but not particularly well. My cooking left a lot to be desired, and I still hadn't completely accustomed myself to all the tasks that mountain women were expected to do. I couldn't help him with his medical work: despite my participation in Little Burl's surgery, I didn't have the stomach for nursing. I wasn't even pretty anymore. He certainly wouldn't be getting a prize for a wife if he did marry me -- he would be stuck with a dab of a girl who looked like a plucked chicken.

And why was I thinking of marriage anyway? He certainly hadn't mentioned anything about it! In fact, he hadn't said a single word about courtship, about his feelings, about anything. I was running wild with his only declaration, made under desperate circumstances. I hardly knew my own feelings.

Everything had unraveled so quickly. Only a few days ago we had been talking about ourselves so openly, and I had begun to have real hopes that things were changing for the better in both our lives. Now we were at odds yet again. "Oh, Lord, please help me understand," I murmured.

The door opened slowly, and fearing that it was David, I ran my sleeve across my eyes in a futile attempt to hide the evidence of my unhappiness. It wasn't David, however; Dr. MacNeill was peering around the door, a cup gripped tightly in one hand. We looked at each other for a long moment, and – apparently deciding that it was safe to enter – he ventured inside and offered me the cup.

I took it automatically. It was only cold water, but I was too choked up to drink any. Handing it back to him, I turned my face self-consciously toward the open window.

There was a moment's hesitation, and then I felt the mattress dip under his weight as he sat down next to me. I tried to ignore his closeness, but one hand came down to rest gently on mine. Looking down at it involuntarily, I remembered grasping that same hand on the night he called me back from heaven; a tear escaped and trailed down my cheek.

Without warning, he reached up to touch my face, his thumb carefully smoothing away the tear. I sniffled and looked over at him, but he didn't move his hand – he kept stroking my cheek in that slow, soothing motion as he studied me.

"I owe you an apology, Miss Huddleston," he finally said. "I never should have spoken to you like that. I let my temper get the better of me, and I beg your pardon for it."

There was real anxiety in his eyes, and my resentment and uncertainty melted away as though they had never been at all. He _did_ care. Sudden affection for him welled up in me, and I managed a watery smile in his direction.

He returned the gesture gratefully and chuckled; the sound rumbled low in his chest, and suddenly I realized how very close we were to each other. His knee was pressed up against my back, supporting me, and my other hand was still gripping his shoulder. His scent – soap, clean linen, the faint smokiness of pipe tobacco, and a unique male spice reminiscent of the mountains – surrounded me, intoxicated me.

The compromising nature of our position seemed to occur to him almost at the same time, for he had begun to draw away when a floorboard creaked and I looked up to see David standing silently in the doorway.

* * *

_A/N: Yeah, sorry, a bit cheesy there. Also, these two cliffies in a row weren't intentional. My muse made me do it.  
_

_As for David: he's a sneaky, sneaky fella! In the series, it seemed like every time Christy turned around he was hiding behind a building or watching from a darkened doorway. Kinda creepy._ :O

_Thanks for your comments -- and sorry, Li'l Albatross: Neil didn't get to be the hero this time. He will eventually though, don't worry. ; ) I'll try to update soon._

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	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

DR. MACNEILL'S HAND dropped away from my cheek as he rose and faced David with admirable poise. "Reverend."

David's face was a study – I couldn't tell whether astonishment or anger had the greatest hold on him, but before he could say anything, the Doctor collected his bag and strode past him out the door. He paused just over the threshold to look back at me. "I ought to be heading out now, Miss Huddleston. Alice will be up very soon," he glanced over at David, "to settle you in for the night. Your headache shouldn't last too much longer. I'll come check on you tomorrow – maybe we can finish our discussion."

"Of course." My cheeks heated under the combination of David's stare and Dr. MacNeill's steady gaze. " I'll see you tomorrow then. Oh, and if you come across Mr. Taylor, kindly thank him for me."

"I will. Goodnight, Christy." The Doctor nodded politely to the stone-faced David and went downstairs. I could hear him talking to Miss Alice, and then the front door shut. It was with great difficulty that I resisted the urge to call out for him to come back. I sighed.

David had not yet moved from his position in the doorway, but that slight sound seemed to pull him back. His expression suddenly cleared. "Glad to see him go, huh?" He crossed the room to peer out the window, as if to reassure himself that the Doctor had really left.

There was nothing I could say to that.

After a moment of uneasy silence, David came back toward me, and all at once his eyes narrowed on my face. "You've been crying! Did he say something to upset you?" His lips tightened, and a muscle began pulsing against his jaw. "Has he been making improper advances? I knew it! I'll tell Alice right away – he'll never set foot in this mission again if..."

"No," I cried. "No, David! Dr. MacNeill has been a perfect gentleman; he's never said or done anything to alarm me. Please don't worry. We were just discussing some things that brought back...painful memories. I cry at the drop of a hat these days."

His scowl only deepened. Miss Alice's light tap on the door was a welcome interruption. She stepped inside to the tense stillness in my room, and her clear grey eyes briefly studied my face before taking in the scene.

David immediately turned toward her. "Alice, I think..."

Afraid of what he might say, I blurted, "I'm tired, Miss Alice. Will you help me get ready for bed?"

Miss Alice looked from me to David and back. "Of course, my dear. We will see you at breakfast tomorrow, David." She waved one slender, elegant hand in a gesture of final dismissal.

"Alice, I..."

"Goodnight, David," she said, with a note of gentle insistence. "Miss Huddleston is weary, and she requires some sleep."

David left reluctantly, and Miss Alice helped me change and settle back into bed. Perching on the end of the mattress, she thoughtfully fingered the small golden cross at her throat; at first she remained silent, and I had just begun to doze when she finally spoke. "Fear and anxiety often manifest themselves in anger, Miss Huddleston."

I blinked sleepily at her as the meaning of her words sunk in. "Could you hear us?"

"Not clearly, but I know Dr. MacNeill...and I know that only a very thorough reproof could summon forth tears from thee. Neil is a patient man, Christy, but when his patience is exhausted, the result is explosive." She chuckled. "David and I have both been on the receiving end of that fine Scottish temper. He was most displeased with us for not preventing you from going to the Spencers' in the first place."

"I'm sorry, Miss Alice," I said miserably. "I didn't mean to get you involved too."

"I am not afraid of Dr. MacNeill, Christy," she replied, sounding amused. "Surely you have learned enough of him now to understand? If anything, my dear, I believe you unnerved him more than he upset you."

"Do you think so?"

She laughed her soft, musical laugh. "You would not ask me that had you seen his face when he came downstairs. It was a sight to behold, indeed – I had never seen him so flustered."

"Maybe, but he's always so sure of himself, so full of confidence."

"Or the appearance of confidence," she replied.

I wanted to ask what she meant by that, but she rose from the bed and blew out the oil lamp on the bureau. "We will talk in the morning, Christy. Would you like a little aspirin powder to ease your headache? Neil left some with me to give you." She brought over a cup of murky liquid, and I drank down the bitter mixture with a grimace.

She smiled at my expression but said nothing more. After opening the window to let in a breeze, she kissed my forehead and went out into the hall, closing the door behind her and leaving me to a fitful and sleepless night.

* * *

I WENT DIRECTLY downstairs the next morning, feeling perfectly fit if a little tired. My headache was gone, and I was relieved that I hadn't seriously jeopardized my health with yesterday's escapade. I could admit now to the justice of Miss Alice's and Dr. MacNeill's displeasure – I had been awfully reckless. Sometimes I didn't think I would ever learn.

The kitchen and parlor were both empty, and I peered out the front window to see Miss Ida hanging up the laundry on the line. Throwing on a shawl, I went outside to join her. My boots crunched in the wet grass, and she twisted around to frown at me. "And just what do you think you're doing?"

"Chores," I said, coming over to pick up a soggy bed sheet and a handful of clothespins.

"Oh, no you're not," she retorted, snatching the linens right out of my hands. "You march right back upstairs to bed – the Doctor specifically ordered you to keep to the house today."

I grabbed the sheet back. "Well, he's not here right now and I'm not going back to bed! You've had no one to help you clean or cook since Ruby Mae left, and you shouldn't have to do it all by yourself. I'm better now, so I might as well make myself useful. Hanging up a few clothes won't hurt me."

For just an instant her severe features softened, but soon the customary scowl fell back into place. "Alright then, but don't you complain to me if the Doctor skins your hide for ignoring his instructions again."

We set to work in silence, but that was the way Miss Ida liked things. She was such a strange creature, so sour and unfriendly, but I thought that perhaps she did actually like me, in her own way. It was hard to tell. I knew she disapproved of her brother's attentions to me.

That thought quickly led to other musings on David's strange behavior last night. I was still embarrassed to think that Dr. MacNeill and I had been caught in such an indiscreet position, and I wondered whether David had managed to tell Miss Alice about it. I hoped he hadn't. I wasn't sure what Miss Alice would say to that – after all, the Doctor had been her son-in-law.

And David...I sighed to think of it. I wasn't ready to deal with him.

"Are you going to stare at that pillowcase or hang it?" Miss Ida said sharply, breaking the spell of quiet.

I hastily pinned up the cloth and dug back into the laundry basket. Perhaps I just needed some time, a little time away from everything to pray and seek out the answers to all my questions. Again I felt that strong desire to go back to Asheville. Christmas Day was a mere three weeks away; I could spend the holiday with my parents and return to the Cove after the New Year to open the school for the next semester. Surely that would give me enough time to sort everything out.

I ran the idea past Miss Alice at lunchtime. She nodded throughout my speech, almost as if she had been expecting it, and when I finished, waiting breathlessly for her approval, she only said, "Do what you feel led to do, Christy. We will be waiting when you come back."

David, who had hardly said a word through the entire meal, startled all of us with his sudden outburst. "I don't think it's a good idea at all."

"Why?" I demanded, angered by his commanding tone. He had been dour and moody all day, and I was sick of it. "I promised my parents I would come, and now seems as good a time as any. School is out for the remainder of the year, and I would be back in plenty of time to organize my lesson plans. I'm sure that Dr. MacNeill will give me permission to go."

David's face darkened at the mention of the Doctor's name. "I wouldn't be so sure he will. You know how he is."

Miss Alice cleared her throat. "We will discuss these details later. I will speak with Neil, Miss Huddleston, and see when you can leave. The train ride to Asheville is not so very far, so I don't imagine that you will have to wait long."

"But —"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Miss Ida said unexpectedly, "she's a grown woman, David. Let her go home if she wants."

There was an awkward pause; David looked taken aback by his sister's chastisement – Ida was generally his most avid supporter. "Well, it looks like I'm overruled." He forced a smile and got up. "Excuse me. I have work to finish."

With that, he left. Miss Ida seemed rather chagrined, but to my amazement, she didn't make a single remark as we silently cleaned up the dishes. As soon as the last plate was put in the cupboard, she retired to her room.

Miss Alice, who had been wiping up the tabletop, paused as I came in with the basin of dishwater. She cocked her head slightly to the side, listening. "Neil is here. I will talk to him about your trip right away, Christy."

It took a few seconds more for me to even hear the faint click of horse hooves. Sure enough, it was Dr. MacNeill and Charlie who appeared moments later at the gate, and once more I was in awe of Miss Alice's abilities.

"Will you kindly go empty that basin and bring back a fresh pail of water?" she asked, going over to hang the towel to dry near the fire. "I think we could all do with some tea."

Even though I wanted to stay and argue my case myself, I did as she asked. The water-pump in the mission yard was a new one, but it still took quite a bit of effort for someone as small as me to push the heavy iron handle far enough to get a good flow of water. I kept turning back to stare at the mission house in between pumps, wishing I could hear what they were saying now. I didn't think Dr. MacNeill was the sort of man to hold a grudge, but I hoped he wouldn't let my recent actions influence his decision.

The pail was soon full, and I lugged it over to the kitchen, pouring it in the kettle so quickly that some of it sloshed onto the floor. I mopped that up impatiently and rushed back to the parlor, where I found Miss Alice alone, reading her Bible.

"He left?"

She glanced at me, slipping her reading spectacles off. "Just a minute ago. He's given his permission for you to leave whenever you choose, so long as your headache doesn't return within the next few days."

My joy at this news was overshadowed by the fact that he had not stayed to tell me himself. I thought we had made peace with each other last night, but perhaps he was still angry with me.

"Neil was on his way to see Uncle Bogg," Miss Alice said calmly, returning her attention to the Word, "and he could only stay long enough to ask how you were and talk briefly about your travel plans."

"Oh." I wondered if my feelings were always so transparent. "I hope Uncle Bogg is well?"

"Just a stomach complaint, it seems, but Neil thought he ought to check up on him all the same." She paused and closed her book, holding my gaze intently. "Serious problems can often be concealed under innocent symptoms, Miss Huddleston."

* * *

_A/N: Christy, Christy...she's always so clueless. Good thing Miss Alice is there to straighten her out. (And sorry, no fistfight between Neil and David.) :D  
_

_On a different note, I'm really enjoying the fanfics, Christyfiction; and a brand new one has been started on the List. It looks pretty intriguing. _

_Thank you again to everyone for your lovely comments -- I won't be able to post for awhile, since I won't have computer access for a week. I can only hope I'll survive that long without the Internet. ; ) I'll try to get a new chapter in as soon as I get back. Thanks!  
_

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	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

MY DEPARTURE COINCIDED with the first big snow of the season. The mountains were draped in gossamer white, rivers had frozen into ribbons of glass, and many a cabin now looked like the frosted gingerbread houses Grandmother Rudd used to make. Winter had finally arrived in the Cove, and most people wisely chose not to venture from their homes.

The snowstorm, however, hadn't affected El Pano or Lyleton nearly as much, so the trains were still running to Asheville, and I was determined to leave according to my original plans. David was to drive me to the El Pano station in Jeb's wagon – Miss Alice had insisted that I not attempt the long ride on horseback – and from there I would take the 10:15 train to Asheville on Monday. With any luck, there would be no delays and I would be home in time for afternoon tea.

As it turned out, when I called the station to reserve my ticket, I was informed that the 10:15 was booked to the very last seat – holiday travelers were in a scramble to leave before the heavier snows trapped them in El Pano. One passenger, however, had canceled his ticket reservation for the 11:50 train on Sunday, and I leapt at the chance. I called my father to tell him about the change, and only after I had hung up did I realize that I had no way to get to the station. David would be preaching, and Miss Alice was leaving that morning for Cataleechie; I could hardly ask Jeb to take the time out from his work to drive me down when he had already been kind enough to loan us his wagon.

Miss Alice, of course, had a solution. Dr. MacNeill was willing to take me to El Pano, provided that no medical emergencies called him away. David's thinly-veiled disapproval of the plan spurred me into agreement, despite the fact that I was a little nervous about spending several hours alone with the Doctor.

As my last week in Cutter Gap drew to a close, I visited as many of the families as I could, since I wanted to see my schoolchildren once more before I left. The general consensus of the children was that I ought to stay for Christmas – after all, the mission was going to hold a play-party on Christmas Eve, and it wouldn't do to miss _that_. As gently as I could, I reminded them that my plans were fixed, and that I would be back just after the break.

I spent an extra afternoon with the Spencers, knowing that Fairlight's absence would be particularly apparent during the holidays. Jeb still looked dispirited, but I thought that he seemed a little less worn and tired, even managing a smile or two; and the younger children piled onto my lap, full of chatter and mischief. When I finally took my leave, Zady followed me to the door and hugged me especially tight. "Yer a-comin' back, Teacher?" she whispered. I promised her that I was, and that I would come to see her the very day I returned. I bid the other children and Jeb goodbye, and as I crossed the yard, I glanced over my shoulder to see Zady's sweet, sad face at the window, watching me go.

When I wasn't out visiting, the rest of my time was occupied in cleaning out the schoolhouse and carefully packing up all the books and maps to keep them safe during the break. I was grateful that I felt well enough to do the work, for it certainly would have never been done otherwise – everyone else at the mission was just as busy.

On Sunday morning, I hurriedly threw my own belongings together. Mother would have fits to see all my nice clothes wrinkled and rumpled so carelessly in the trunks, but I hoped I could have them unpacked and hung in my closet before she noticed.

Miss Ida called me down for breakfast just as I snapped my suitcase shut. She had made buckwheat cakes, eggs, and bacon, the usual Sunday fare, and I took my place at the table quickly, stomach growling. David was already seated, and Miss Alice, wearing her grey riding habit, stopped briefly in the house to say goodbye.

"Have a lovely Christmas, my dear," she said, kissing me on the cheek. "Are you all ready for your trip?"

"Everything's packed – finally." I laughed at myself. "Trust me to leave it until the last possible minute."

She smiled. "Convey my best wishes to your family, and be sure to call so we know you arrived in safety, Miss Huddleston. God keep thee." Going out to mount Goldie, who was tethered just outside, she set off down the road to Cataleechie, waving one gloved hand back at us as she disappeared around the bend.

Miss Ida brought the platters to the table and we helped ourselves. For once, I ate more than David, who merely picked at his plate, glancing up every so often to watch me. It made me nervous, and I wished there was some way I could ask him what was wrong without causing a scene.

No one said much throughout breakfast, and as soon as I had finished, I excused myself. I was brimming with excitement for my journey home, but there was something heavy and anxious that pressed down on me – it was ridiculous, but I found myself wandering across the field to the schoolhouse. The hour was growing late, and Dr. MacNeill would undoubtedly be here at any moment, but I felt a strong need to see the school one last time before I left.

The schoolhouse was unnaturally still and quiet, perfectly clean and neatly arranged for the next semester. I let my eyes drift over the familiar room, crammed full with benches and desks and crates; it was the one place that I had been allowed to view as my own, and yet there was something so very melancholy about all those empty seats. A little shiver coursed through me, and I hurried back to the house before I was missed.

Dr. MacNeill arrived precisely at seven o'clock. I was waiting on the porch when I heard the lumbering rattle of Jeb's old wagon, and as soon as the driver came into view, I picked up my portmanteau. "Good morning, Doctor," I called. It was dreadfully chilly, and I tightened my scarf as I bounded down the steps to meet him.

"Good morning, Christy." He looked quizzically at my little suitcase. "Is that all you're bringing?"

"Heavens no," I said, laughing. "David is bringing down my trunks."

"Ah, I was wondering. Women never travel lightly." His words were humorous, but there was a somber cast to his smile.

"Some do." I glanced back over at the front door, suddenly uncomfortable. "David should be here any minute now."

Sure enough, David soon appeared, struggling with the two unwieldy black trunks. He blew out a shaky breath and sagged briefly against the doorjamb, forehead glistening with sweat. "Whew! What did you pack in there, Christy? I didn't think a few dresses could weigh so much."

"Here, let me help you with those, Grantland." Dr. MacNeill jumped down from the seat-board and strode over to the steps; David looked as though he might protest, but common sense triumphed over pride, and together the two men hoisted my trunks onto the wagon bed.

"Thanks, Doctor." David swiped his sleeve along his brow and turned to me. "Have a nice Christmas, Christy. Write if you find the time, and we'll count the days until you come back."

I smiled. For a moment, at least, this was the old David again. I was glad that we wouldn't have to part on bad terms with each other. "Merry Christmas, David. I hope you and Miss Alice will have that first-class jollification you planned for."

"We'll try, anyway." He shrugged, thrusting his hands in his pockets, and there was small, ungainly pause before he finally wished us both a good journey and went off to his bunkhouse to change for the Sunday service. I watched him go with an inner sigh, almost wishing that things could have turned out differently. It certainly would have been less complicated.

"Ready, Christy?" The Doctor was already working to unwrap the reins from the porch railing. "We've got quite a way to go, and we don't want to be snowed in halfway to El Pano."

I nodded, and he helped me up onto the board, where he had thoughtfully padded the hard wooden plank with a blue cushion. There was also a thick quilt for me to wrap up in, and I did so gratefully, for the wind was bitingly cold. Seeing that I was settled, he hopped onto the bench himself – I couldn't help but notice how effortlessly he swung up – and after taking the reins in hand, he set the horses off at a clipping pace.

"I can't wait to see Mother and Daddy and George," I said, to fill the silence. "It feels like such a long time since I was home."

"A few months at least," he replied absently, his eyes scanning the path ahead.

A few months that seemed like an eternity; I would have to treasure every minute of my time in Asheville, for it would pass by quickly.

My parents had been delighted to hear my holiday plans, but I hadn't yet told them about my intention of returning to Cutter Gap in January; I didn't particularly want to spoil Christmas with the conflict that was bound to follow that announcement. I knew that I would succeed in convincing them eventually, but what was the use in riling everyone up at such a time?

These worries occupied me for the first mile or so, since there was nothing to distract me from them. Dr. MacNeill was unresponsive and preoccupied, thwarting my attempts at conversation with replies that were – although not exactly uncivil – certainly short. I wondered what was bothering him; we had been on perfectly friendly terms all week. Why, he had even walked with me along the riverbank all afternoon on Friday. Perhaps something had gone wrong with one of his patients; he always took those losses so much to heart.

"Is everything okay, Doctor?" I decided to be blunt.

He turned his head to look at me blankly. "Hmm?" The brisk wind ruffled his hair and threw sunshine onto it, making it glint copper and gold.

"Has everything been going well for you? Medically, I mean." He continued to look confused. I lowered my voice. "No one's...uh...passed on?"

His eyes widened ever so slightly. "Not lately. Why?"

"No reason. Just curious." I ducked my head and fiddled with the buttons on my coat, casting around for something to say. "Will you go to the mission's Christmas party?"

"Maybe. To be honest, Christy, it's not a holiday I've celebrated for awhile," he said. "I guess I never saw a reason to make a big fuss over it. My parents made Christmas as good as they possibly could for me when I was young, but once I was in college there was no one to celebrate it with, and when there was..." He cleared his throat. "My wife didn't care for Christmas. It reminded her of...well, of things she didn't want to think about, so we didn't usually do much – just exchanged a few presents and maybe attended a singing on Christmas Eve."

I couldn't imagine not celebrating Christmas. In the city, it was by far the biggest event all year – every building in Asheville was decked with wreaths and greenery; carolers patrolled the streets, and vendors on every corner sold hot chocolate and paper pokes filled with roasted chestnuts. The holiday spirit was pervasive and all-consuming in the city, and I had always loved that warm and cheerful feeling.

The Huddleston household leapt into the festivities wholeheartedly. My mother and I went on day-long shopping excursions, sometimes going as far as Wilmington to find the perfect gifts, and my father and brother and I took frequent trips to the park to skate on the pond. We built snowmen in the yard and strung popcorn, and the house was always filled with the rich spicy smells of the gingerbread cookies and plum puddings that Cook made specially every year. And of course there was the joy of rising early on Christmas morning to exchange presents – Mother and Daddy spoiled us dreadfully.

In Cutter Gap, gift-giving was a simple affair, as the few presents exchanged were generally handmade; but I had learned that any small trinket was enough to bring pleasure to these children and their parents. The highlanders' complete lack of greed was an astounding thing in itself.

"I imagine that Christmas is quite different in Asheville," Dr. MacNeill said abruptly.

I turned to look at him, the color rushing into my cheeks. How did this man always know what I was thinking? "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"What is what supposed to mean?"

"Are you angry at me for leaving the Cove?" At last I thought I might have hit upon the reason for his coolness. "You think I should have stayed, that I'm pampered and shallow to want to go home for Christmas? I would be perfectly content to celebrate Christmas in a more... modest...style, Doctor, but I want to see my family. Sure, sometimes I miss the nice things I left behind in Asheville, but that doesn't mean that I'm deserting the children just because I..."

"Whoa, there," he interrupted, lifting up one hand. "You're putting words in my mouth, Christy. Of course I don't object to you going home. Your parents want to see you, and you'll probably recuperate better in the city."

I sank down into my seat. "Oh."

"I don't blame you," he said, more quietly. "You must be homesick." Shaking his head, he tried to grin at me. "I'll never know where you get these crazy notions, Christy; your thought processes never cease to..."

A blur of movement in the bushes by the road suddenly caught my eye. "Doctor," I cried, "stop the wagon!"

He yanked on the reins, but before he could ask me why we had stopped, I leapt down from the bench and ran across the road. I heard him calling after me, but I hurried into the trees and nearly bumped right into Bird's-Eye Taylor, who looked startled by my unexpected appearance.

"Mr. Taylor," I said breathlessly, before he could hasten away, "I didn't have an opportunity to thank you properly before."

His light blue eyes narrowed suspiciously on my face. "What fer?"

"For saving my life. Miss Alice said you found me near the river and brought me back home. I can't begin to thank you. It was a very kind thing to do."

He tugged uncomfortably on the brim of his dirty felt hat. "Weren't nothin' much, ma'am. Couldn't rightly leave ya thar with all them wild critters about."

I shivered at that. "Anyway, I appreciate it. I'm obliged to you."

"I reckon you ain't. I was beholden. I never forgot what you done fer my boy."

I didn't quite know where to look. "Miss Alice and Miss Ida did most of the work. I'm afraid I'm not a very adept nurse," I said lightly.

Bird's-Eye's alert gaze suddenly centered on a spot over my left shoulder, and I turned to see the Doctor lounging by the roadside just out of earshot, nonchalant but watchful.

"Dr. MacNeill has been gracious enough to escort me to El Pano, Mr. Taylor," I explained, hoping to allay the mountain man's uneasiness. "I'll be going back to Asheville for a few weeks, before the next school term."

His eyes flickered once more over to the waiting Doctor and then moved to survey me almost curiously. "Waal, all the best then, Miz Christy." Tipping his hat, he melted back into the trees, the underbrush hardly rustling in his wake.

I stood there for a moment, wondering if the old moonshiner thought I was a complete loon. Presently I heard the distinctive tread of the Doctor's boots on the path behind me. "Christy?"

Sighing, I turned around. "Sorry for running off like that – I felt like I had to let him know that I appreciated his help, but I hadn't been able to find him at all this week."

"He's not exactly a social butterfly," Dr. MacNeill said dryly.

We made our way quickly back to the wagon, for the wind had picked up and the heavy white snow clouds were starting to gather above us. The remainder of the journey passed by fairly rapidly; we talked a little but were mostly silent. It wasn't an uncomfortable sort of stillness; sometimes words just seemed unnecessary. Any sound but the whisper of snow and the muffled creak of the wagon wheels seemed almost disruptive.

The Doctor's pocket watch read half-past eleven when we arrived at El Pano; the train was already in the station, ready to be boarded. While Dr. MacNeill saw to the wagon and my luggage, I collected my ticket and stepped into the general store to wait for him. The pot-bellied stove in the corner threw off plenty of heat, and I sat down, letting the blaze melt the stiffness from my arms and legs.

Dr. MacNeill came in a minute or two later and joined me. "The conductor made his first call, Christy. You'd better be off."

A crowd had gathered at the stairs to board. I took my place at the back of the line, and the Doctor stood with me. A portly bearded man was in front of us, talking loudly to his companion. "They say there's another few inches on the way tonight, Amos – supposed to be chock full of snow by the end of the week."

I glanced up at the ominous clouds overhead; Dr. MacNeill noticed the direction of my gaze and commented, "It does look like we have a bit more winter on our hands. It's a good thing you didn't wait until Monday to leave; the trains probably will be snowed in tomorrow."

"I hope you won't try to go back to the Cove if the weather gets any worse," I said, as a frightful image of the Doctor's lifeless body lying frozen in the snow flashed into my head. "You will stay here, won't you?"

"I'll get a room at Mrs. Tatum's," he assured me.

The line moved forward steadily, until it was almost my turn. I looked over at the Doctor, feeling a bit shy. "Thanks for the escort, Dr. MacNeill."

His expression became very grave. "You're welcome."

"I...I suppose I'll see you in January, then."

"Maybe."

I looked up at him, my heartbeat quickening. "Maybe?"

He shrugged. "If you're coming back so soon."

I stared at him. "Of course I'm coming back in January; it'll be the new semester. It's not like I'm heading off to Africa or China, Doctor – only Asheville. I'll be here again before you know it."

He gazed at me for a long moment. "Will you?"

"What?"

The train whistle shrilled, and he put a hand to my back to gently propel me toward the steps. "Goodbye, Miss Huddleston."

I climbed numbly up into the train car and found an unoccupied seat near the back, across from an elderly gentleman reading a newspaper. Sinking down onto the plush booth, I set my suitcase next to me and peered out the ice-encrusted window. Dr. MacNeill was standing by the lamppost, staying clear of the bustle; his arms were crossed over his chest, and the brown boots were covered shin-deep in snow. His face was turned to the side, cheeks stung pink with the bitter wind.

He looked so desolate. I pressed my face up against the glass, wishing I could do something to make him feel better. He must be lonely, especially at this time of the year, during a holiday that centered around family – I would miss him too, very much. On a sudden impulse, I reached up and turned the window latch, carefully easing up the dusty pane.

Cold air rushed in and bit at my cheeks and nose, but I leaned forward and called out, "Dr. MacNeill! Dr. MacNeill – Neil!"

I saw him twist around, his gaze turning up to where I sat, my head stuck through the open window. The black smoke from the engine began to roil overhead as the train prepared to pull away from the station, and I cupped my hands over my mouth to be heard over the shriek of the whistle. "Merry Christmas, Neil!" I quickly stripped off one of my mittens and blew him a kiss.

Even from the across the tracks I could see his surprise and then the smile that spread slowly across his face. The train started forward with a jerk and a squeal, and we were speeding away out of the station, but I kept waving until his solitary figure disappeared from sight.

* * *

_A/N: Boy, it's nice to be back online! Thanks to everyone for being so patient with me._

_So anyway, Christy's bound for Asheville and various family-related incidents -- and sorry, folks, but the next few chapters will be Neil-free. :( Sad, I know. You can be sure, however, that he'll figure into Christy's thoughts and conversations enough to keep us from going into Doc Withdrawal. ; )  
_

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

MY FATHER STOOD by the ticket booth, looking distinguished in his best charcoal-grey suit and a blue tie. I paused for a moment before stepping down from the train car onto the pavement, savoring the sight of him. Dearest Father! He looked just as he had all those months ago but for an extra sprinkling of silver in his full brown beard.

Clutching my suitcase, I edged through the milling mass of my fellow travelers; it had been a surprisingly tiresome ride, and my stiff legs ached as though I had not used them in a week. I kept my eyes trained on Father's face, my heart fluttering with fresh anticipation, as I hurried toward him.

He turned as I passed the queue of waiting passengers, and I laughed to see that familiar broad smile light up his eyes as he caught sight of me. "Girlie!"

"Daddy!" I rushed forward into his arms.

He held me tightly, one trembling hand pressed against my hair. My face was burrowed against his coat; I breathed in the musky scent of his favorite aftershave, a sting of tears coming to my eyes. Oh, how I had missed him! I had been grateful for the slight communication available to us in the telephone, but nothing could compare to the pleasure of having him here next to me, solid and familiar and reassuring.

At length he took a step back, heavy hands moving to my shoulders, and surveyed me from head to toe. I saw his concern at seeing me so weak and pale, but also that look of gentle relief that I was there at all. He reached up to wipe a tear from my cheek. "There, there, Girlie – you're home now."

I slipped my hand into his and held it firmly while we collected my bags from the porter and went out onto the street, where the car was waiting. I bundled inside while Father cranked the engine; I watched the street and its bustle of activity keenly – all that motion and noise seemed so foreign now.

Satisfied that the car wouldn't stall halfway down the road, Father opened the door and slid onto the seat next to me. He stole a glance at me from under bushy grey brows. "Ready, Girlie?"

I smiled. "Ready."

And then we were off. My senses were crowded with familiar sights, smells, and sounds, rushing around me in an overwhelming deluge – I could scarcely fix my attention on one thing before I was distracted by another; there was so much to see! For the first time it struck me how very accustomed I had become to the silence and serenity of the mountains. All this movement...it was intimidating somehow, but so very exciting. I was tempted to bounce up and down on the padded seat like a child, but under Father's watchful eye, I managed to keep the impulse under control.

Neither Father or I said a word all the way to the house – I had so much to say that I could hardly think of where to begin, and Father had never been much of a talker to begin with. Still, it was a companionable sort of quiet; and every time he turned his head to look at me, he grinned, as if the sight of my thin, white-cheeked face brought him too great a joy to contain.

We pulled up to the curb in front of our house. I pressed my nose to the window, drinking in the sight of that familiar blue manse with the apple trees and white picket fence. It was so very fine a sight that it took several minutes for me to realize that the car had stopped and Father was waiting for me to get out. He laughed and teased me about being absent-minded as he helped me onto the snow-dusted pavement.

Just as Father began to unload my luggage, the front door opened and Mother's slim, elegant figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by the sunlight. I ran up the path to embrace her, and for once she didn't chide me for dashing about in such an unladylike manner; instead she hurried down the steps to meet me.

Her arms came around me and pressed me close; she didn't say a word, but I felt a sudden dampness where her cheek was pressed against mine. Father appeared behind us with the bags and gently urged my mother forward into the house. "We ought to get Christy inside – it's too chilly out here for her."

Mother reacted to that announcement at once, hurrying me inside to sit before the fireplace in the drawing-room. She was uncharacteristically nervous, fussing with my water-logged clothing and fluttering around me anxiously while Father and the manservant lugged my trunks up the staircase to my old room.

The instant Father returned downstairs, Mother took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, seeming determined to compose herself. As soon as she had her wits about her again, she settled me down into an armchair and sent the maid for tea. Sitting down on the settee, she leaned back and studied me keenly.

"My word, Christy," she said, "you're as thin as a rail! And your hair!" Her slender white fingers moved to tenderly smooth back one pathetic ringlet from my forehead. "Poor dear – we'll go to a hairdresser and have this fixed up when you're feeling better."

Father only chuckled. "We'll fatten you up like a Christmas goose, Girlie."

"I can't wait." My mouth watered at the prospect.

Mother, however, was not amused. "Are you feeling quite well, dearest? I hope the journey wasn't too tiring. Perhaps you ought to go lie down for a while before dinner."

"Really, Mother, I'm feeling just fine. I haven't felt ill since —"

"Well, if it ain't Prissy Chrissy." My brother's voice floated down from the top of the staircase, and I looked up to see his impish freckled face grinning at me from over the banister.

"George Huddleston," Mother exclaimed, "kindly be serious for one moment. Is that any way to greet your sister? And do stop hanging on the railing like that – it takes poor Sarah hours to shine it back up."

George winked at me and strolled deliberately down the stairs, whistling as he went. When he came forward to give me a brief hug, I was shocked by how much he seemed to have grown since I saw him last. Why, he towered over me by at least three inches – surely my little brother shouldn't be that tall!

I saw him take in my appearance as he pulled away. Still a little uncomfortable with my thinned hair, which was neatly bound up in Zady's blue kerchief, I reached up unconsciously to cover my scalp with my hand. "Pretty bad, huh?"

George's smile was sympathetic, and my embarrassment melted away. "It's not that bad." He tugged playfully on one curl. "See? There's still enough to pull."

I punched him lightly on the arm. "Thanks."

Tea was served with a tray of refreshments; we talked and ate and laughed, and I stuffed myself with warm gingerbread. Everyone seemed to be speaking at once, and I realized that my family was as eager to share the latest news as I was to hear it. It seemed that many things had happened in a short period of time; great-uncle Thomas had died two weeks before; Aunt Daisy was moving back to New York; and Father's favorite nephew was set on enlisting in the military by the end of the season.

"Oh, and Cousin Millicent is to be married," Mother announced as she refilled our cups. "I hope that your father will be able to take the time off; it isn't until June, after all, and I would love to see Anne again – and Millicent would like to visit with you too, Christy. You were such bosom friends when you were little girls."

"I wish her all the best," I said. "Who is the lucky groom?"

"Frederick Stanhope. He seems to be a fine young man, and he's from a very respectable family."

"Speaking of beaus," George added, too innocently, "you didn't leave any broken hearts behind in Cutter Gap, did you, Christy?"

I felt myself flush as Father and Mother both paused and looked over to see my reaction. I tried to keep a straight face. "Of course not." Even as I spoke, a picture of Dr. MacNeill's downcast face came to mind.

Looking relieved, Mother shook her finger reprovingly at my brother. "George, what am I to do with you? Pay him no mind, Christy – he's been nothing but trouble all day."

George immediately denied this, to which Mother insisted that really was so; and Father just watched and chuckled as they quarreled. I could see that my mother was somewhat exasperated, but George seemed to be enjoying himself immensely -- he had always taken a wicked joy in riling Mother.

I exchanged an amused glance with Father and then sank back in the chair, nibbling at my fourth slice of gingerbread and listening contentedly as George and Mother argued.

It was good to be home.

* * *

THE REMAINDER OF the evening flew by. We shared a special dinner together; Cook had outdone herself to welcome me home, and I allowed her to fill my plate twice over. George looked as though he wanted to tease me about it, but a look from Father silenced him.

After sating myself so thoroughly, it didn't take long for me to become sleepy and begin to feel the effects of the morning's train ride. Mother sent me off to bed after I fell asleep in the parlor and nearly spilled my after-dinner coffee on the carpet. I went upstairs willingly after wishing my parents pleasant dreams and cornering George long enough to give him a goodnight kiss in retaliation for his pestering.

Stepping into my bedroom, I was surprised by how strange everything appeared. I was so accustomed to my stark little room at the mission house – this chamber seemed so large and unfamiliar, even though it was filled with my own childhood treasures: my extensive leaf collection lay arranged on my desk with a pile of books; fine silk and satin clothing hung in the closet; a row of porcelain dolls with lovely glass eyes and pouting red lips sat daintily on the shelf above my four-poster bed. It was all recognizable but somehow foreign.

Just a few weeks ago I had been hovering near death in the wilds of the mountains, and yet here I was now in my old bedroom, as if nothing had changed.

After slipping into my nightdress, I went to stand in front of the bay window. It overlooked the garden and the old magnolia tree just across the fence. Parting the delicate lace draperies, I peered out into the darkening yard. The stars overhead were particularly bright – it seemed that the overhanging storm clouds had retreated at least for a few hours.

Oddly enough, I thought of Doctor MacNeill, picturing him sitting out on the porch of Mrs. Tatum's boarding house, perhaps smoking his pipe and admiring the night sky, just as I was. Was he marveling at the beauty of the stars too? I wondered if I might have entered into his thoughts, maybe for only a moment.

I shook my head to clear away those foolish hopes and turned to crawl under the covers. Someone had thoughtfully placed a hot brick under the mattress-slip, and I sighed with pleasure; no bed had ever seemed so warm and wonderfully soft. I laid awake for a moment, watching the pattern of the oil-lamp flame against the wall. Suddenly it came to me that I really _was_ home – my parents were down the hall, I was part of my family again, and most of all, I was alive, gloriously alive.

Smiling to myself, I pulled the quilts up to my chin, leaned over, and blew out the lamp.

* * *

_A/N: First of all, I am SO sorry that I left you guys hanging for such a long time. Not that excuses ever really matter, but I truly was caught up in going-back-to-school preparations, and I didn't write a single word for almost two weeks. Hopefully now that my muse is working again, I can start posting regularly. Thanks so much for not giving up on me._

_And now that I finally did get around to posting a chapter, it just happens to be part of the Neil-free section. :( Notice that I did try to sneak in a reference or two, but it's not the same as the real thing, I know. ; )_

_Anyway, this chapter -- as well as the next two or three -- are centered more around Christy's family and old acquaintances. What do you all think of Mom 'n Dad -- and George? We don't get much characterization for any of them, but from what actually is included in the novel, I thought that George sounded like a fun kid. Everyone needs an annoying but lovable sibling, after all. :D_

_I'll try to post Ch.11 sometime this week; thanks again to everyone for your comments and patience!_

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"WELL, DARLING, WHAT do you think of this one?"

I looked up to see Mother examining one of my favorite gowns, a copper-brown taffeta that my grandmother had bought me on holiday last year. She held it up against me contemplatively. "This might do. You need more color in your face, though – darker shades make you look too pale."

"Isn't it a bit too – ouch!"

She had pinched my cheek. Stepping back to admire the effect, she nodded. "Yes, that will be fine. Slip it on, Christy, and see how it fits."

I sighed inwardly, rubbing my stinging cheek, and began to undress. An invitation had arrived early in the morning, bearing the letterhead of one of Father's colleagues, an attorney from Nova Scotia who had made a name – and fortune – for himself in the legal world and had further advanced his position through a fortuitous marriage to a daughter of one of Asheville's wealthiest and most prominent families.

After building an opulent mansion for his new bride, Mr. Hayvescroft had set up a successful law firm in town, dealing mainly with business claims; Father had great respect for him, declaring that, all expectations to the contrary, he was a capital fellow with a fine sense of honor.

And so Father's influential friendship with the master of Hayvescroft Hall had turned out to have its advantages. Chief among these, at least in Mother's opinion, was the regularly issued invitation to the Hayvescrofts' annual Yuletide Ball. The estate was remarkable, surrounded by a park three miles around – only Biltmore, the exquisite home of the Vanderbilts, was grander – and the prestige associated with visiting was very great.

I had been attending with my parents since I began wearing my hair up, and every year the celebration seemed to grow larger and more flamboyant. I hadn't attended last year due to my residence in Cutter Gap, but from Mother's letters, I gathered that the previous ball had been one of best yet – Mr. Hayvescroft had even brought in a London chamber orchestra to play for the evening.

Mother was certain that this year's performance wouldn't suffer in comparison, and she waited anxiously as the end of December approached for the invitation to arrive, as if Mr. Hayvescroft might suddenly forsake the established habit of a decade and slight us.

Father, aware of Mother's worries, hadn't teased her by concealing the arrival of the long-anticipated note. Along with the presentation of the coveted paper, Father had some further news from our family physician. A week ago, and in spite my objections, Father had arranged an appointment with Dr. Burke for the purpose of giving me a thorough examination; the soft-spoken, elderly gentleman had finished the inspection with as little possible humiliation for me and had seemed optimistic about the extent of my recovery. Father had gone in to speak with Dr. Burke just the other day, and the doctor had charted the information from my recent examination and determined that I was well enough to attend the Christmas party if I wished.

Immediately after Father made this announcement, Mother had begun her fussing over my clothes and hair, which was why I was presently trapped upstairs with her and a closet full of clothing.

"Raise your arms, Christy." Mother slid the brown dress over my head, but when I tried to pull the delicate puffed sleeves up on my shoulders, we discovered that the fabric was too tight. It seemed that despite my recent weight loss, I had built up some muscle in my months at the mission. Mother toyed with the notion of trying to force my arms though, but that idea was quickly abandoned in favor of preserving the expensive taffeta.

I wriggled back out of the gown, and Mother carefully folded it and laid it regretfully on the bedspread.

"I could wear something I used in Cutter Gap. This one still fits better than the others," I said, pulling out the dress of watered blue silk I had often worn to church in the Cove – it was the only formal apparel I had brought with me to the mountains, my one concession to my secret fondness for beautiful clothes.

"Wear that?" Mother was properly horrified. "Christy, look at it! Not only is it completely faded from washing, but it's two years out of style. No, we shall have to find you a new dress."

I knew it was useless to argue; that singular expression of mule-headedness had come over her face. So after leaving a note for George, who was off somewhere with his friends, we took a streetcar down to Main Street.

Mother was in her element, directing me from shop to shop, comparing prices and consulting with all the dressmakers. Everyone we happened upon welcomed me back cordially, but I was aware of their speculative eyes following me as I riffled through fabrics and cards of lace.

One or two of the ladies we met were bold enough to inquire directly about Cutter Gap and the typhoid epidemic. I hadn't realized that anyone in Asheville would be aware of the scourge, but with an illness as grave as the typhoid fever, news tended to travel fast and far. I wondered whether their interest was born of real concern for the afflicted people involved or whether it was merely curiosity.

Between fending off impertinent questions and walking halfway across the shopping district, I was soon weary. Mother, still fretful about my health, resolved to leave me at a nearby café to get a drink and rest while she went to purchase us new pairs of dancing gloves and slippers. Knowing that there was little else for me to do, I sat outside at a small round table under a candy-striped umbrella, watching the people and automobiles pass by. An older couple sat at a table on the other side of the café door, chatting quietly; the street was crowded, and a woman clutching the hand of a crying, towheaded little boy rushed past, struggling to hold a collection of large parcels and looking harried.

I sipped at a cool glass of lemonade the waiter brought me and waited for Mother. Knowing how she liked to take her time to select exactly the right thing, I suspected that I would be sitting here for some time.

"Why, Christy! Is that really you?"

I twisted around in my seat to find a young woman approaching from across the street. "Eileen!" I stood up just as she dodged the last honking car and stepped up onto the curb.

Tall and fair, Eileen Mayhew was my opposite in nearly every way. Besides the obvious differences between her shining gold hair and statuesque figure and my own narrow, dark features, Eileen was poised, cultured, and reserved. She never seemed to embarrass herself or say the wrong thing; she was perfectly composed and perfectly lovely.

It was strange, really, that we had ever become friends at all. I was forever governed by the impulse of the moment, while Eileen seemed immune to it. Still, somehow we had managed to find a balance between our personalities; we had been friends since our schoolgirl days, and Eileen was one of the few people to support my decision to teach in Cutter Gap. Her letters those first few months had given me some much-needed encouragement.

"It is _such_ a treat to see you again," Eileen said. "Mother told me that you had arrived in town two weeks ago – I only just came back myself from Charleston – and I was going to call on you this very afternoon." She laughed. "How lucky it is that Mother sent me downtown today."

"Come and sit with me," I said, drawing her toward the table. "We can talk and...well, unless, of course, you're too busy today."

"Not at all. There were only a few errands, but they can wait." She sat down across from me and reached out to grasp my hands. "Oh, I am so very glad to see you again! We were all so frightened – you are better now, aren't you?"

"Much better...except for this." I smirked and patted the cap of very short, very uneven curls on my head. The hairdresser had done the best she could under the circumstances, and I was pleased with what she had been able to accomplish. The small amount of hair that wasn't curled was swept over artfully to cover the bare patches of scalp, and even George admitted that the glossy whorls looked very well, making my face appear somewhat fuller. It was still a great adjustment, however, and I hoped my hair would grow out quickly.

Eileen shook her head at me. "Nonsense. Cropped hair is becoming quite the thing on the coast, you know. Plenty of stylish women have started wearing their hair short."

I appreciated the thought, even if I suspected her of some exaggeration. "Tell me, how was Charleston? Were you visiting your uncle?"

We twittered on like a pair of birds, talking of anything and everything – Eileen ordered a drink for herself and a tray of pastries to share, and though the food between us rapidly dwindled, our conversation didn't. After exhausting her curiosity about all the latest news in Cutter Gap, Eileen finally found a moment to dispense some news of another sort.

"I have something to tell you, Christy," she said, "but I haven't been sure whether you will like it or not. I didn't write of it in my last letter because I thought it would be better shared in person." She set down her cup and leaned forward across the table. "I am engaged."

"Engaged! When? – how, who?"

At this, her smile faltered a little. "Charles Prescott."

Charles Prescott? Bookish, bashful, awkward Charlie Prescott? My expression must have shown my amazement and disbelief, for Eileen reproved me. "Christy, why should it be such a surprise? You know Charles's parents are great friends of Mother and Father. I've known him nearly all my life."

"But – marriage? Did your mother and father push you into it?" I stared at her. "Do you love him?"

My friend sighed. "Christy, for heaven's sake, it's not as if it's some sort of medieval arranged match. I like Charles very well, and I'm convinced our chance of happiness is just as good as anyone else's. I want to start a family."

"I'm sorry, Eileen." Once again I had managed to misspeak. "Of course you know what you want – Charles is a very kind man, and I'm sure he'll adore you to the end of your days."

Eileen blushed prettily. "And what about you, Christy? Any young men for you?" I thought that she was merely trying to turn the subject; she wasn't generally so bold. "What about that man, the preacher you talked about – Daniel."

"David."

"David. Well?"

I stared down at the checkered tablecloth, not knowing what to say. "No, we're not...well, it's not really anything, not now."

Eileen studied me intently. "I thought he wanted to marry you."

"I...he..." I was flustered. I hadn't remembered writing about David's proposal to her, but I must have. How many others had I let it slip to? "It didn't turn out."

"Oh. He must have been disappointed. Not that I blame you, of course," she added hastily. "If you didn't like him well enough, then of course you were right to put down his expectations."

I sat still, quiet, cut by her words. David...oh, what had I done? I hadn't said a word to him about his proposal – I hadn't told him anything about my feelings before I left! Was he expecting a reply when I came back? Did he consider us engaged? I hadn't done anything to prevent him from forming that conclusion...but then he had not renewed his offer when I had talked to him that night...

Eileen's soft voice again registered in my head as I realized she was still talking, and I forced myself to listen. "...no matter what anyone else says. I know you too well, Christy. You couldn't be content with that."

I swallowed past a sudden constriction in my throat. How could I possibly explain the current jumble of my feelings to her? The situation with David was so precarious; everything had been upended by the epidemic. Before that, I had been sure that I was in love with David, that our marriage was a dearest wish of mine. I had been prepared to accept him – Neil MacNeill had never even been a possibility then. He had been an enigma, a puzzling and confusing man, not a lover. But now...now everything had changed. David, dear familiar David, had become the stranger, while Dr. MacNeill...what _was_ Dr. MacNeill to me?

I liked him, certainly; I respected his skills and compassionate heart. My opinion of him had only just lately become more positive as I was able to know him better, but so much of what he was remained a mystery. I knew he loved me – he had said so himself, and my romantic heart was touched by that declaration – but what did_ I_ feel? David's attentions had led me to believe that I was in love. How was I to know the difference when I finally did experience the genuine article?

"Are you feeling well?" Eileen was watching me with an air of consternation. "You look a little pale."

"I'm sorry – I was distracted."

"I could see that." She smiled and then became serious again. "Did I bring up something I shouldn't have? You and the Reverend didn't part on bad terms, I hope."

"Oh, no, nothing like that. I...we...there were complications, but I'm not nursing a broken heart, if that's what you're thinking. You just reminded me that there are a few things I need to deal with when I go home."

"Home? You mean Cutter Gap."

I laughed. "I guess I do."

Eileen stirred her coffee. "You're going back, aren't you?"

I winced. "I don't know. I'm more than a little confused at the moment; I feel like I'm being pulled in a thousand directions all at once."

I had been so firmly resolved on returning to the Cove immediately after the holiday that I had forgotten how tempting the pull of my childhood home was. Here I could stay with my family, with my friends – I would never have to sweep floors or do laundry or walk all across the mountains to study with my students. There would be no more feuding, no more hunger, no more moonshine, no more poverty, no more filth and ignorance and hardship... I could take a teaching job in Asheville with good pay and clean classrooms, and no one would fault me for it.

My mother – and even, on occasion, Father – spoke of more local possibilities, of the nearby schoolhouse which was in great need of teachers, of opportunities available to me here. Why, I could attend college for another semester and broaden my knowledge, improve my teaching abilities. Didn't I owe it to my students to offer them the best possible education?

I found that I was far more tempted by these options than I had believed I would be. The appeal of another year of college and staying near my family was strong; I was quickly forgetting why I had gone to Cutter Gap in the first place.

I was still wondering how best to express this to Eileen when my mother arrived, burdened with several parcels and boxes. Seeing that Mother was fixed upon continuing the search for my dress, Eileen graciously excused herself, promising to call later so we could talk. I said goodbye and followed Mother dutifully into the next boutique. Her attention was immediately drawn to a display of shawls and gauzy wraps, but I stayed close to the door, unable to pay proper notice to the finery.

Finding nothing to her liking, Mother moved on to the next table and lifted up a beautiful spangled tippet. "What about this, darling? It might go well with your green muslin."

I didn't answer – my conversation with Eileen had struck me deeply, and I could think of nothing else. As if her questions had knocked something loose in my mind, it occurred to me for the first time what I had been doing to David.

I should have given him a definite answer from the start. His proposal to me had been an indecisive thing, and I had been no more aware of my own feelings than he was. I had meant to accept him – to commit to becoming Mrs. Christy Grantland – that evening at his bunkhouse, but again God seemed to have spared me from myself. I knew something was wrong, but I had ignored that truth because...well, because I was a starry-eyed girl who knew nothing about love. And in many ways, I realized, I was still that same girl.

But that did not excuse my recent behavior. I should have told David as soon as I had the opportunity how I felt about our relationship and my belief in the rightness of moving on. The truth might have stung him for a while, but at least the suspense and anticipation would have been over. My greatest fear was that our friendship would be permanently damaged now, and I had no one to blame for it but myself.

How unfair, how selfish I had been! There was time yet to remedy the situation, but I dreaded his reaction. Still, it must be done, for the good of everyone involved.

I leaned my head against the windowpane, deaf to Mother's inquiries and comments, blindly watching the scene of prosperity before me and praying that somehow I could say the right words when the time came. Resolved, I turned and went back to rejoin Mother, determined to mend the broken connections I had left behind me in Cutter Gap.

At last, due to the harmless interference of a friend, it was all decided, and I had never in my life felt such a strange combination of relief and sorrow.

* * *

_A/N: This was a pretty long and action-free chapter, sorry; but it was due time that Christy got a bit of a clue. She's not exactly the most perceptive being on this planet. ; )_

_As far as the inclusion of minor characters like Eileen and the Hayvescrofts, I took some major-league liberties. Ms. Marshall tells us almost nothing about Christy's childhood – she doesn't mention any of Christy's friends or schoolmates except for a brief passage in which Christy wishes she were "beautiful like my friend Eileen back in Asheville." It's been tons of fun to characterize her family and friends, and I hope I'm not muddling it up too badly._

_And on a different note: NoMoreTV, I'd never thought about the similarities between Rochester and Neil – you're absolutely right about those sinking-into-the-depths-of-angst moments in the series, plus the additional Undead Wife element! Perhaps if the series had gone on long enough, Mags would have set Neil's cabin on fire and jumped off the roof. :D_

_Thanks everyone for your attention and reviews!_

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

EVENTUALLY MOTHER'S PERSISTENCE paid off, for we managed to find the elusive ball-gown just three days before the party. I could not be angry with her for her tenacity, however, as I had the same weakness for fine clothing, and the dress we settled upon was by far the most elegant thing I had ever seen.

Mother pronounced it perfect, and with her spirits so high in anticipation, the whole house couldn't help but be infected by her joy. So, it was a very merry group that left the house on Christmas Eve to bundle into the automobile.

I sat next to George in the backseat, complimenting him on actually looking civilized. His brown hair was parted and slicked to the sides, and Mother had managed to force him into a formal suit and tie, complete with a high starched collar and black dancing pumps. He had accepted her fussing gamely enough, for although dancing didn't hold much attraction for such an active fourteen-year-old boy, he knew at least a few of his cohorts would be in attendance. Undoubtedly they would find some other sort of mischief to get into when the party became too dull.

Father looked as tidy and collected as he generally did – he wore a suit every day to the law firm, so there was no great difference in his appearance but for the jeweled stickpin he wore on his lapel. Mother was lovely, appearing younger than her years in lavender silk and pearls, her hair done up with an exacting neatness that I could only observe and envy.

While the others all talked, I chose to stay silent, watching the darkened streets and their bordering houses creep by as Father drove toward the Hayvescrofts' mansion. My heart beat a rapid tattoo in my chest; I was surprised by my own excitement. I had been to large parties before and never felt this kind of anxiety – perhaps all those months in Cutter Gap had worn away the social adroitness that had been instilled in me by Mother.

"William Spencer will be there, Christy," Mother said suddenly, glancing over the seat to gauge my reaction. "And the Lloyds are coming with their son, Rupert, who has only just graduated from college. You remember Rupert, don't you, dear?"

"I remember that he put a worm in the pocket of my favorite dress once," I said, trying not to smile.

George muffled a snort against his sleeve, and Mother turned back to watch the road with a sigh. I knew exactly what she was hoping for: I would look very demure and lovely in my gown, and some rich young man would fall instantly in love with me, and we would marry and settle in Asheville, and I would give Mother several well-behaved grandchildren to dote on. There was no doubt in my mind of the line of her thoughts this evening; Mother, for all her caprice, was very predictable in some matters.

In short order, we had arrived at the Hayvescrofts' estate, where a line of cars and a few carriages jammed up the gravel road to the house. Hayvescroft Hall itself was still an astounding sight, particularly in the evening when the torches were lit, casting a sunset-glow over the fine white marble and Grecian pillared entryway. One hundred marble steps led up to the foyer, where Mr. and Mrs. Hayvescroft were waiting to receive their guests.

A servant approached us to park the car in the reserved lot behind the house, and we walked up together to join the milling crowd at the doors. Thankfully, the line moved quickly, and soon we were inside.

Our turn came to be introduced, and Mr. Hayvescroft greeted Father with all the warmth due to a good friend. He and his wife made a handsome couple, both plump and blond, with easy smiles – although I sensed that Mrs. Hayvescroft's welcome was not quite so sincere as her husband's. They ushered us along as soon as the pleasantries had been concluded, urging us to enjoy ourselves as much as possible.

Stomach fluttering with nerves, I took George's arm as we passed through the foyer into the dance hall, and the sight that met us there was truly extraordinary.

The ballroom glittered with the light of a thousand lanterns strung about the walls, decked with fresh greenery and shiny red holly berries. A half-dozen crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead like diamond-drop stars, casting glittering beams all across the floor. People milled everywhere, dressed in rich silks and velvets and lace, perfumed and glowing with prosperity and good cheer. It was a beautiful picture, and I felt myself being caught up in the charm and bustle and keen excitement.

There were a few familiar faces in the crowd – girls and boys I had once known who were now young men and women; I wondered if they saw the same difference in me too. A few people approached to bid my parents good evening and welcome me back home, but for the most part I was left unattended. George had gone off to speak with some of his friends, and Mother was busy with her own circle of church ladies. Even Father was absorbed in some sort of business discussion with Mr. Hayvescroft, who had come into the ballroom to join his guests.

A few of my school friends and a matron or two came up to ask how I was and start up a little conversation in the hopes of learning a juicy tidbit about the Cove. Miss Marlene Nesbitt even ventured to say, with a tone somewhere between awe and astonishment, "But weren't you awfully frightened, Miss Huddleston? I think I should faint if I left Asheville for such a strange place!"

"I was frightened at first," I said, "but there were many good people there to help me through my fears."

Miss Marlene shivered at the very notion, and was soon after swept off by her mother, who gave me a sharpish look before hurrying her daughter away.

Eileen, who would have been able to ease the awkwardness of the situation, could not come help me; I had seen her when I came in, and she was busy waltzing with Charles Prescott. Eventually, however, the small group which had gathered around me dispersed, and I was left to myself.

I chose one of the plush velvet chairs lining the wall and sat down, and my eye was immediately caught by a wall-length mirror in an ornate gilt frame set just opposite my seat; the girl staring back at me was unfamiliar, strange – a small, fragile girl encased in a beautiful layer of silvery-grey silk, with wide blue eyes that seemed to overtake her narrow face, cheeks powdered carefully with talcum and the slightest bit of rouge.

I stared back at my reflection, struck by what I saw – this couldn't be me. It wasn't me. Suddenly I wondered what Dr. MacNeill would think to see me now, dressed up like one of the dolls on my shelf, looking exactly like every other pretty and polished young lady in the room.

Someone laughed, and I looked over to see George standing next to me. "Admiring yourself, hmm?" he taunted, taking my elbow to steer me toward the dance floor. "Leave that duty for the gentlemen, Prissy."

I was embarrassed to be caught gaping at the mirror, but I could hardly explain my revelation to him. "Let's just dance, okay?"

"Fine by me."

I danced my first waltz with George, and then the next two dances with first Charles and then – to Mother's delight – Rupert Lloyd, who looked no different at twenty than he had at fourteen. He was just as mischievous as ever, and I felt certain that if he had for some reason been in possession of a worm, he would have slipped it down my bodice just for old times' sake.

Still, I enjoyed the company of all three of my partners – although George and Rupert teased me mercilessly – and I returned to my seat flushed and laughing, well-satisfied with the evening's turnout.

There was a small pause in the activity as everyone collected some refreshments and the orchestra tuned up for the next set. Seeing the long line for the heavily-laden tables, I decided to wait until everyone else had eaten. To my surprise, however, the host himself brought me a plate of cold meats and cheese and a glass of wine.

"I thought you might like a little something," Mr. Hayvescroft boomed, handing over the dainty china platter. "Your father was just telling me about your recent indisposition, and if you don't mind me saying so, my dear, you're looking a bit weary – so, I brought you a few things. You've been dancing up a storm, and you must be hungry. We can't have you fainting on us now, can we?"

I accepted the plate gratefully. "Thank you. Won't you have something too?"

"Oh, I'd better not. If I don't watch what I eat, Sophie will for me." He looked over fondly at his wife, who was busily directing the serving-men behind the tables. "I've been sneaking things here and there all day."

He laughed, and I joined in – I liked Mr. Hayvescroft. Something about him reminded me of Father, and, oddly enough, of Miss Alice. He was complaisant, good-humored, and discerning, yet seemingly unaware of all the wealth surrounding him in his own house. I wondered briefly whether it was actually _Mrs._ Hayvescroft who planned these elaborate parties.

We talked for a few minutes more; he was full of questions about my students and the things I had learned about the mountains, but for some reason, his inquisitiveness didn't make me as uncomfortable as it had with the others. Before I knew it, the music was beginning again, and people were starting to pair off.

Mr. Hayvescroft rose from his chair. "I would ask you to dance, Miss Huddleston, but I'm afraid that gout doesn't take kindly to the practice." He paused, and then spotted a sandy-haired young man who was passing by us. "Ah, Hale! Hale, this is Miss Huddleston, John Huddleston's daughter. Miss Huddleston, this is my cousin, Richard Hale." I stood and curtsied, and the gentleman bowed.

"Have you got a partner for the next dance, lad? Ah, good! Here's one who won't fail to please you – why don't you have a dance with Miss Huddleston?" Mr. Hayvescroft urged me forward, beaming. "Such a pretty young lady shouldn't be without a partner."

"I would be very pleased to dance with Miss Huddleston, if she will grant me the honor." Mr. Hale gave me a genuine smile, and I accepted his hand readily.

Mr. Hayvescroft grinned at me conspiratorially as he stepped off the ballroom floor, which was quickly filling with couples. "You look very fine on my cousin's arm, madam – and Hale, do try not to bore her with your infernal medical talk." With that, he winked and left us to dance.

"Are you a doctor, Mr. Hale?" I asked, as the orchestra began to play.

"Almost," he said. "I have one year of medical school left before I receive my degree."

"Are you from Asheville?"

"No. I'm only staying here with my uncle for the Christmas holidays. I live in Boston."

I thought of David. "Do you know a family called Grantland?"

"I can't say I've had that pleasure," he said politely. "Should I know them?"

Of course he wouldn't – Boston was an enormous city. The chances of Mr. Hale knowing David were very slim; it was ridiculous to have asked anyway. "I...I just wondered. The minister down in Cutter Gap is from Boston – David Grantland."

"Cutter Gap." He whirled me around in a circle. "Cutter Gap, Tennessee?"

"Yes," I said eagerly. "Have you been there?"

"No, but I heard of the typhoid epidemic. It was all the talk here; it seems that there was danger of it passing over the border." He shook his head. "Sad business indeed. I understand there were over a dozen fatalities in all. Such a great pity, but then...well, I suppose the people do bring these things on themselves."

I nearly tripped. "I beg your pardon?"

"I didn't mean that they deserve it, Miss Huddleston – it's just that the filthy living conditions and their atrocious attitude toward hygiene contribute to these tragedies."

"Have you ever been to the mountains at all, Mr. Hale?"

"No, but I've heard a great deal about them, particularly the poverty and ignorance of even the most basic medical procedures. Surely you couldn't have failed to notice that." There was a slight hint of condescension in his voice.

"Yes, I did notice it, but those...disadvantages aren't everything. The people there – if you knew what they were like –"

He made a gesture as if he were tipping his hat to me. "I defer to your superior knowledge of the mountaineers, Miss Huddleston; I am merely making an observation."

"They prefer to be called mountain people," I said automatically.

Mr. Hale's eyebrows rose, and I was suddenly ashamed of myself for being so judgmental. Hadn't I once believed the same things?

"I'm sure you misunderstand me, Miss Huddleston," he said, more gently. "It is a proven fact that these people are prime candidates for epidemics because of their lifestyle. If they took better care of themselves, perhaps these scourges wouldn't happen."

Better care of themselves? So, by his token it was all their own fault – that good people like Fairlight and Lety Coburn had only themselves to blame for that catastrophe? He spoke as if the highlanders were poor by choice!

Apparently Mr. Hale took my silence as encouragement, for he continued, "It's not only the people. If there was better medical care available..."

"There is plenty of good medical care," I blurted out. "The Cove has a physician, and he's a wonderful man. You don't know him, how dedicated and skilled he is, how much he cares about his patients."

There was a small twist of a smile on Mr. Hale's face. "As you say, Miss Huddleston. I'm certain he does the best he can. Country doctors serve their purpose."

"Dr. MacNeill is not a country doctor! He was educated in Philadelphia; he went to a prestigious medical college and graduated with honors. He had _three_ city offers to set up his own practice, but he chose to make a sacrifice and return to the mountains to serve his friends."

Mr. Hale's expression was skeptical, and my temper flared. How could he criticize Dr. MacNeill?

"He saved my life," I cried. "You should have seen how tirelessly he worked, how he jeopardized his own health to help others recover from the typhoid. He saved them."

_Not all of them_. His smile spoke of his opinion as clearly as if he had said the words aloud. "Of course."

I glared at him so fiercely he took a step backwards. "How dare you insult my friends? You don't know anything about Cutter Gap or Dr. MacNeill. If city medicine is so superior, and you knew the need was so great, why didn't _you_ come down to help when you heard of the epidemic? I was under the impression that all doctors are supposed to offer their services when patients are in need."

Angry color flared in Mr. Hale's face. "Not that it's any of your business, Miss Huddleston, but I had no call to go into Tennessee – some of your doctor's colleagues ought to have assisted him."

I knew he was right, and that my arguments were unreasonable, but I was so angry and disappointed that I couldn't think clearly. "I'm tired, Mr. Hale," I said at last, stopping right there on the dance floor while the other couples continued to waltz around us. "I would like to sit down for awhile."

"Fine." Taking care to put as much distance between us as possible, he marched me off the floor to the chairs. I noticed that we were attracting some attention, and I had the strong desire to run out of the room – away from those staring eyes – and go back home. Home. Where _was_ home?

My partner paused by my chair, and I let go of his arm, grateful that my parents and George were nowhere in sight. "Thank you for the escort. Good evening, Mr. Hale."

"Good evening, Miss Huddleston." Mr. Hale bowed coldly and moved on, and I sank down on my seat by the wall, staring out unseeingly over the gaily dancing couples. Suddenly the glittering chamber and its occupants seemed to have lost their rosy lustre, and I felt deflated, somehow – and very lonely.

* * *

_A/N: Sigh. I think Christy's ready to go home now, don't you? Of course, she still has to tell her parents...hmm..._

_In Ms. Marshall's notes for the sequel to "Christy," she had indicated that Mr. Huddleston would be the biggest proponent of the idea that Christy should stay in Asheville after the epidemic. The series, however, seemed to paint Mrs. Huddleston as the parent who discouraged Christy from teaching in Cutter Gap. It's interesting how the producers of the show took that characteristic and placed it in the mother instead of the father. I'll try to mix both versions up a bit in the next chapter and see what comes of it. ; )  
_

_Thanks to everyone who continues to read and review!_

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I HAD ALWAYS loved taking walks in our garden – Father used to say that I would spend all my time in the hedgerow if Mother let me. Now, of course, I found the trees and flowers reassuring for another reason; the garden was a small slice of nature in a world crowded by people and buildings and paved streets. And today, especially, I craved that solitude.

A week had passed since the party at the Hayvescrofts', but my conversation with Mr. Hale was still very much in my mind. I couldn't help it – his words had stung, and my own reaction to them troubled me. Why did I feel such a need to defend Cutter Gap and my choice to live there? After much thought, I decided that perhaps my own indecision made me sensitive to criticism; the Cove had become something of a symbol of my personal accomplishments. Every negative remark directed toward the place I had come to love seemed more like an insult to me.

I had to do something. This indecision was tearing at me. Not for the first time, I wished for Miss Alice's wise counsel or Opal's quiet willingness to listen.

"I thought I'd find you here."

I turned around to find George on the other side of the garden fence, a bat and baseball glove slung over his shoulder. There was a smear of dirt on his cheek, and the knees of his trousers and his shoes were stained with mud.

"Been out on the baseball field?"

"Not today – there were some kids out there already, so we went down to the riverbank, as you can see." He gestured at his filthy clothes and grinned. "It'll probably be the last time we can play before it really starts to snow." He looked me over. "Are you thinking too much again?"

I sighed. "Of course."

George studied me for a moment and then vaulted easily over the fence. "Do you mind some company, then?"

"I'd like that."

We took the path down toward the hill behind the house; it was quiet and calm, with a cold, numbing wind that snapped at our faces and hands. We walked together in easy silence, keeping pace with each other and attending our own thoughts.

"I think it might snow soon," George commented, as we wound through the thick patch of apple trees at the bottom of the slope. He blew out his breath, and it hung in front of him in a silvery mist. "It's getting cold, finally. We haven't had much of a winter this year."

"You don't care a whit about the weather – neither do I, for that matter, and we both know it. Now what is it you want to say?"

He smiled. "I can't slip anything past you, can I? I just wanted to have a heart-to-heart with my darling sister, of course. No need to make that face, Christy; I mean it. I'm curious about a few things."

"Such as?"

"Such as whether you're leaving us next week."

I eyed him suspiciously. "And how did you find that out?"

"Sarah said you asked to have your trunks brought back down to your room."

"Sarah talks too much," I muttered.

"Unfortunately for you, she happens to like me," he said, a little smugly. "It's handy to have such good connections of gossip in the house."

Knowing that he wouldn't be satisfied with anything less than the truth, I said grudgingly, "I haven't decided what to do yet."

"Why?"

And so the entire story came spilling out. I told him about the schoolchildren, about Miss Alice and how I had come to love and depend on her, about David and Dr. MacNeill, and all the problems I had left unresolved back in Cutter Gap. I told him how much I wanted to go back, but how much I wanted to stay too. I talked about Mother and Father, how they would feel if I left again, back to a place that had nearly killed me – how I didn't want to tear our family apart because my dreams took me too far away.

I talked and talked while he listened patiently, only nodding now and then, not even smiling or interjecting a teasing word when I spoke about Neil and David. He was serious and silent, watching me without expression, and his impartial manner made me more at ease.

"I don't know what to do," I concluded. "I know what I _should_ do, but how can I do it? Either way, I'll disappoint someone I love."

George hesitated, and then plowed ahead. "And this doctor fellow – Neil?" At my nod, he went on. "You say he loves you. How do you know? Has he said something?"

I paused. That experience was something I held close to my heart; I had never told anyone about it before, except Dr. MacNeill, but the Doctor had been intimately involved in the incident, and I wasn't sure that I was ready to tell my brother about something so private. George seemed to understand my reluctance.

"Never mind, Christy. It doesn't matter." He shrugged. "But how _you_ feel does matter."

"That's the problem," I admitted, feeling a surprising lack of self-consciousness, considering the fact that I was discussing my love life with my little brother. "It's hard to see Dr. MacNeill as...as a suitor. George, I didn't even like him when we first met, but then I found things to respect and admire in him. I didn't even know he ever thought of me... romantically...until recently. I like him very much, better than I thought I would, but I don't know what to do. Sometimes, when I was around him, I was sure that I wanted him to court me, but lately, I've...I've..."

"You've been having doubts," he finished for me.

"Yes. Well, not about _him_, exactly – I like him as well as I ever did. I'm just not sure about a deeper relationship. I'm not sure I'm really ready to marry anyone, or if I would know whether I had made the right choice if I did."

George smiled for the first time since our conversation started. "And who said you had to get married right away? Do you expect the Doctor to propose to you the instant you set foot back in the Cove? Is he so sure of himself, or are you just that irresistible?"

I flushed, a little irritated. "Of course not. He is too confident, but I don't think he would ever do something that impulsive. And I'm not expecting anything from him."

"Look, Christy, people don't usually get married right away. If the Doc is really in love with you and wants to marry you, he's going to make sure he knows what you feel before he makes a move. No man wants to get thrown out on his ear by a girl."

"Speaking from personal experience, George?"

I had meant it as a joke, but to my surprise, George gave me a sharp look. "You'd be surprised," he said quietly.

This news alarmed me, and I wanted to question him about it – after all, he had only just turned fifteen the day after Christmas! – but his closed expression discouraged me from prying into his affairs. "I suppose you're right, and that's the problem. After his initial...uh, declaration, he hasn't said a word about us, or his intentions."

"Maybe he needs some encouragement. He's a widower, right? Well, he's been away from the hunt for awhile, then – you might have to be the one to court him." George laughed at my look of astonishment. "I mean it, Christy. If I know you at all, you haven't given him a single clue either. You have to meet him halfway, or you'll be mooning over each other until you're both too old to care anymore."

I shoved him. "Away from the hunt? Mother would wash your mouth out with soap for that kind of street talk."

"Speaking of which..."

I knew exactly what he was hinting at. "That hasn't had a bit of bearing on any of this, George Huddleston."

His eyebrows arched up. "Really?"

He was daring me to be honest, and I struggled with myself before letting out a sigh. "Oh, all right. I admit it, Mother's reaction has bothered me too. And Daddy's, for that matter. Dr. MacNeill isn't exactly their idea of a gentleman. He's intelligent and good, but he's not like the men here. He's not elegant or handsome or debonair – he can't turn a phrase or talk about the latest style of coats or the newest political scandal. I doubt he's worn a suit since he went to Philadelphia for medical school. He's more... elemental."

George snorted. "I'm sure he can handle himself in the city, Christy. You said he went to college."

"I didn't say he couldn't handle himself – he's just different, and Mother doesn't like anything that's different. She wouldn't welcome him."

"Give her a little credit, Sis. If you married the man, I doubt she would turn your husband out on the street. That would cause a scandal, after all." He winked.

Despite my annoyance, the phrase 'your husband' sent a little frisson coursing through me. "I don't think he would be comfortable with us, except with you – and maybe Daddy, once they were better acquainted. He's very proud of his heritage, George, and I know he would be able to tell that Mother disdained it. He's not phenomenally rich or from a good family; he would have nothing that would impress her. The only fine things he owns are an old mantle clock and a few pieces of furniture from Scotland. I don't know that he has very much money at all; his patients pay him with beans and chickens."

George started to laugh, but seeing that I was serious, he quieted. "If it doesn't matter to you, then it shouldn't matter to Mother. She might not like it, but she'd come around eventually. Besides you're not even sure if you want the Doctor to court you yet." He paused. "Do people really pay him with chickens?"

"Yes." I sighed. "You'd understand if you saw Cutter Gap. Mother would take one look at the filthy cabins and ragged clothes and run right back across the border – and she would probably drag me with her."

"Kicking and screaming all the way," George added. "I doubt she could drag you anywhere if you didn't want to go. And that's the problem, isn't it?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You want her to make your decision for you, to say no or to say yes. You don't want to have to make the choice yourself, because then you'd have to be accountable for it."

He had spoken gently, without any sharpness, but his words bit deep, and I had to blink back sudden tears. "You're right." I looked up at him. "How did you know?"

"I'm not trying to overstep myself – but you're my sister and I think I can say that I've learned a lot about you in the past fifteen years. You have to do what's right. I don't know what's right, but _you_ do. The sooner you figure that out the better. Decide who you really are, Christy."

My brother sounded so much like Miss Alice in that moment that I almost asked him when he had decided he was really a Quaker. Instead I said, "I don't know who I am."

"Then you should find out," George said simply, leading me toward the house. He paused at the gate and smiled back at me. "I'm sure the Doc would like to know too."

* * *

PRAYER IS A solution, not a suggestion – or so Miss Alice had once told me. I had always considered prayer a last recourse, an afterthought to ensure that I was provided for or protected. Not until recently had I come to see that conversations with God were a lifestyle, not something that could be called upon only in special circumstances.

Lately I seemed to have forgotten that. It was already the first week in January, within a few days of my planned departure, and I was in a terrible state of indecision. I felt torn between my family and the work that I still could do in Cutter Gap, even after my talk with George. Only after several anxious days and restless nights did it finally come to me that I had yet to go to God with my burden.

That neglect was instantly remedied, and I felt ashamed of how long it had taken me to turn to God for guidance. I spent that very afternoon in prayer, and when I emerged from my room that evening for supper, I knew what I needed to do.

The meal went by silently – I was too busy mentally preparing myself for the argument to come to provide much conversation; George glanced at me every so often, his expression full of sympathy and encouragement, and I tried to draw some comfort from it. Mother and Father didn't seem to see anything unusual in our reticence, and Mother had enough to say about the afternoon's Ladies' Society meeting to fill the gap nicely.

I didn't eat much, too nervous to attend to the food, and as soon as the dessert plates were cleared away by Sarah, I cleared my throat and suggested that we sit in the parlor together. Father seemed a little surprised, but Mother seconded my idea gladly, sending Sarah for some coffee. George excused himself, giving me a wink before he disappeared up the stairs.

My parents and I were soon closeted in the parlor, chatting lightly. I sank into my chair, gripping the cup of coffee desperately, and wondering how in the world I was to broach the subject. _I had the loveliest walk this morning, Mother. The weather was so clear and warm for this time of year. Oh, and by the way, I'm leaving for Cutter Gap next Tuesday..._

I shook my head and rose to my feet. The memory of the serenity I had found during my afternoon prayer session renewed what little faltering spirit was in me, and I faced them with all the courage I could find. "Mother, Daddy," I said, hating myself for the tremor in my voice, "I have something to tell you."

My parents' attention was fixed on me, and miraculously, now that the time was here, I felt a sudden wash of peace come over me. This was the right thing. This was what I was meant to do. "I've enjoyed being here at home so much," I began firmly, "but I've been considering the matter, and I believe it's time for me to go back to Cutter Gap. I told Miss Alice that I would return a week after the New Year, so she'll be expecting me soon. I have already booked a ticket for the train home, and Sarah brought my trunks in for me. I...I thought you should know."

There was a stunned silence; Father was staring down at his hands, his expression inscrutable, but Mother was plainly horrified. It took her several minutes to recover her voice. "How kind of you to inform us, Christy," she said in clipped tones. "At least you gave us some warning beforehand."

"I..."

"What are you thinking?" she cried, startling both Father and I. "Christy, how can you even _speak_ of going back to that...that _place?_" Her voice rose in agitation. "I thought this was done, once and for all. I thought you had finally come to your senses and given up this reckless lark of yours and decided to settle down like you ought..."

Amazingly, I was not angry – just more determined than ever. "This isn't a game, Mother. I made a commitment to the mountain people and my children."

"_Your_ children? I don't see any likelihood of you having children if you continue to waste your youth and beauty in this misguided quest for glory! You have — "

"Julia." Father's low voice cut suddenly into our argument, silencing us both.

We waited, in an agony of suspense; his face was still unreadable, clearly bent on giving away nothing. He appeared to be considering the matter, in that slow, deliberate way of his. For a moment I saw a flicker of something in his eyes – something of conflict, of an internal struggle – but then it was gone.

I couldn't bear it any longer. "Daddy?"

"I want you to be happy," he said at last.

"John..." Mother whispered.

"No, Julia. She's old enough to make her own choices and accept the consequences." Rising slowly from his chair, he walked over to where I stood by the fireplace. He opened his arms and I rushed into them gratefully. "Thank you, Daddy," I murmured, unable to find any other words to express what I felt.

I heard a rush of silk and peered over his shoulder to see Mother fleeing up the stairs; I started to pull back, to follow her, but my father's hands at my shoulders stopped me. "Leave her be, Christy." He waited until I was looking at him before saying, "I've been expecting this since the year turned; I knew you couldn't be put off so easily. You have the Huddleston stubbornness."

I smiled, but he remained grim-faced. "I can't pretend I'm pleased with your choice, but you have to do what you feel led to do. I let you go once, and I will do it again, but promise me that you'll remember you always have a home here with us."

"I know, Daddy. I know." Reaching up, I kissed his cheek, feeling a new freshness suffusing me, a new sense of purpose. Mother would come around; I knew that she loved me enough to trust me, even if she was angry now. I was at peace with myself, with God, with my choice. I was doing the right thing. I was meant for what lay ahead in the Cove.

I was finally coming home.

* * *

_A/N: Whew. Okay, the sojourn in Asheville has officially ended. Cheers! Now it's back to business in good ol' Cutter Gap._

_About Catherine Marshall's sequel, I thought I would just post about it here so anyone who was interested could get the info. I don't know that her actual complete synopsis is available, but "Christy: the Collector's Edition" had an insert with a page of Catherine's notes for her intended sequel to "Christy." In case you don't want to run out and buy the book for a page of photocopied notes, I'll lay out the main points (and I'm paraphrasing here):_

_1) Christy recovers from typhoid and eventually lets MacNeill know that she heard his confession._

_2) Christy leads the Doctor to a deeper and more meaningful faith, and he recovers his relationship with Miss Alice._

_3) Christy doesn't want her parents to see what Cutter Gap is like because she knows they will refuse to let her come back. Her father especially wants her to stay in Asheville for her own safety._

_4) David realizes he doesn't belong in the Cove and steps gracefully out of the picture._

_5) Christy marries the Doctor; they establish a medical clinic in Cutter Gap. One of the mountain boys (not specified) receives medical training and helps with the practice._

_6) 5-10 years after the events of the novel, Neil receives an offer for research which he believes will benefit his people more in the long run. He and Christy leave the Cove._

_A few of these points -- like the MacNeills leaving CG -- surprised me, but Catherine never said whether they would come back or not when the research grant was exhausted. I choose to think they did. ; ) It's just a shame that she didn't write the sequel after all. But then again, maybe "Christy" wouldn't be such an intriguing book if it had all been spelled out for us. The ending, although frustrating sometimes, gives us the opportunity to imagine our own outcomes._

_And, as a side-note, the collector's edition of "Christy" actually is pretty interesting. It includes photographs of Leonora, John Wood, and Catherine; little tidbits about Catherine's progress and inspiration for the book; letters from friends and her mother; notes that Catherine wrote to herself about ideas for scenes in the book; and some pics of historical artifacts from Leonora's time. (Oh, and it has a picture of Stewart in it, too.) :D_

_Sorry for babbling, and thanks for your reviews as always!_

* * *


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

FATHER WENT WITH me to the train station, and it was as if time was doubling back and repeating itself. It was a cold January day, just as it had been that morning in 1912 when I first made the journey to Cutter Gap.

I had laughed to find that the ticket I booked was for Old Buncombe. The irony of it all was almost too much; for a moment I had wondered whether the Almighty was playing a trick on me.

Still, as Father and I stood there waiting for the train to arrive, the thoughts running through my head clearly marked the day as something more than a repetition of history. I had gone into the unknown last year, full of excitement and a hundred dreams of making a difference in these people's lives. Now I was stepping back into the familiar and dear, and my dreams were all for what differences these people could make in me.

"Are you ready, Girlie?" Father was still looking off down the tracks, but I could hear the tightness in his voice. "Did you remember the letter?"

"I have it right here." I patted my coat pocket, where the note Father had written was safely tucked away. It was a personal thank-you from Father to Dr. MacNeill for his attention to me during to the epidemic. At my suggestion, he had also enclosed a certificate for fifty dollars' worth of medicine from the pharmaceutical company in Lyleton. I knew the Doctor would never accept money, but medicine was something he couldn't afford to refuse.

"Call us when you arrive, now," Father reminded me as Old Buncombe appeared around the bend. The people milling round began to swarm toward the boarding gate.

"I will, Daddy." I picked up my suitcase and stepped into the line. The train slowed and then stopped, spewing greasy-black smoke high above our heads. The gate was unlatched, and my fellow passengers began to board.

We were moving quickly, too quickly, and I turned to Father, at a loss for words.

Words weren't necessary after all – he bent and kissed me, gave me one last smile, and ushered me up into the train car. I was jostled toward the back, where I found a seat and sank down, looking immediately to the window for a glimpse of my father.

He stood back from the activity, and as soon as I caught his eye, he waved. I had to look away, pulling my scarf up high around my neck to hide my tears from those seated around me.

"All aboard!" The doors were soundly shut and latched by the attendants, and the train jerked forward, rumbled and shook, and then began to pick up speed, pulling out of the station. I sank back against my seat and hugged my suitcase to my chest, trying not to think about what I was leaving behind.

As soon as we had passed the last street in the city and began to emerge in the snow-drifted country fields, I was finally able to relax. Now everything was settled; there was no way to turn back. Unconsciously I reached up and fingered the brooch pinned to the collar of my shirt-waist.

The small silver oval was crowned by a single ruby the size of my thumbnail, ringed with creamy seed pearls. It had once belonged to Grandmother Huddleston, and Mother had presented it to me this morning, attaching it without a word to my blouse as I kissed her goodbye.

The gift itself meant nothing, beautiful though it was. Mother had been distant all week, but this simple gesture said everything that she had not been able to tell me. She was entrusting me with something she loved, something of value. I couldn't seem to keep my hands away from it; with every touch of the smooth, cool stone under my fingertips, I was reminded anew that Mother understood. She might not have agreed, but she understood and still loved me.

"Tickets, please!" The conductor had entered the car and was progressing slowly up the aisle; I fumbled in my handbag for my ticket. The purse was crammed with odds and ends: a roll of dollar bills Father had tucked in my pocket, a gold watch on a chain, two handkerchiefs, and even a sack of peppermints I had bought as a treat for the children – with all the clutter, it took me some time to find the ticket crumpled in the bottom of the bag.

I pulled it out triumphantly and glanced up to find myself face to face with Javis MacDonald. We recognized each other at almost the same moment. "Mr. MacDonald?"

"Well, I'll be," the old man marveled, doffing his cap politely. "If it ain't Miss Christy Huddleston! I always wondered what became of you out there in Cutter Gap. Are you going back again, young lady?"

"I am – I just came to Asheville for the holidays." I smiled at the grizzled conductor; he looked the same as he had a year ago, his white beard trimmed neatly, smile-lines carved into his cheeks.

"You made a way for yourself after all," he said, holding his hand out for my ticket, which I promptly handed over. "I didn't manage to scare you off, I reckon."

I laughed. "I'm afraid not."

He punched the ticket and slipped the stub back to me. "You're a mighty pert gal, Miss Huddleston. The best of luck to you."

"And to you."

With that, he moved on to the next row of booths, and I settled back, my heart lighter already. I felt secure, at ease with myself, and – at last – healthy. My figure still wasn't what it had been before the epidemic, but at least I was no longer a pale, walking skeleton. Eileen had commented on it during the going-away dinner party my mother had thrown two days ago. "You're looking more like yourself, Christy," she'd said. "Your color is much better than it was before, and you're smiling more. You look happier."

I supposed I was. Home was so near, and I was overflowing with anticipation; I wanted so badly to talk to Zady and the Spencers, to hear Little Burl's voice, to see Sam Houston's sweet smile. Why, I even longed for Creed Allen's mischief! It felt like I had been away forever, and I hoped the children hadn't thought that I was deserting them. Over the course of the past four weeks, I had sent three letters to Miss Alice which I knew she would read to the others, but written words were no substitute for flesh-and-blood presence.

I propped my elbows up on the dusty windowsill and watched the snow-covered ground move past at what suddenly seemed like a sluggish pace. We couldn't have been two miles out of Asheville, and I was already impatient. Oh, if only the train could go faster!

After alternating between staring out the window and trying unsuccessfully to start up a conversation with the woman sitting across from me, I found a book interesting enough to hold my attention, and it helped the time pass more swiftly. The train stopped once along the way to refuel, and I used the break to eat the soda crackers and cold ham that Mother had packed for me.

Another two hours' travel brought us across the border to the outskirts of El Pano. The countryside became more wild, more recognizable, and my heart began to pulse so furiously I was certain that the people around me could hear it thumping against my ribs. We pulled into the seedy old station; Old Buncombe slowed and then stopped with a screech, wheels and gears creaking as they reluctantly stilled.

I leapt to my feet as the doors were unlatched. Gripping my suitcase, I hurried through the aisle and down the steps. Snow was thick all over the ground, frosting the trees and the outline of the peaks in the distance. I stood there in the middle of the path, my head lifted up toward the sky, drinking in the sight of the mountains.

Tearing my gaze away, I spotted David down near the general store, leaning against a fence post and holding the reins of both Prince and Buttons, who were grazing placidly in the small patch of weeds next to the fence. He grinned as he caught sight of me, and I dashed across the road, almost losing my balance in the heavy snowdrifts.

"David! David, how are you?" I hugged him without thinking; he jerked in surprise, but then he returned the embrace heartily. I pulled away, flustered.

"It's so great to see you again," he said, his hands on my shoulders as he looked me over. "I've missed you, Christy."

"I've missed everyone too," I said. "So, what have you been doing? How is Miss Alice?"

"We're all just fine." He took my suitcase and strapped it to Prince's saddle. "Did you have a nice visit with your parents?"

"I had a wonderful time, and I have so much to tell everyone. No one will get a word in edgewise during supper," I teased.

"It'll be nice to hear your voice again," he said warmly. "The mission has seemed awfully empty without you there."

He seemed to be waiting for a reply, but I didn't know what to say. I turned to greet Buttons instead; the mare snuffled into my hand and whinnied softly when I stroked her nose. Prince trotted over to get his share of the attention, and I scratched him behind his ears, just where he liked it. "So you didn't bring Theo to welcome me home too, David?" I said lightly.

"Old Theo would hardly make it across Big Spoon Creek," David replied. "You'll have to wait until we get to the mission to see him." He paused and looked around. "Shall I ask Ben to bring up your trunks to the mission? I would do it myself, but I'm not sure it would be fair to ask Jeb for his wagon for the second time in a week. I used it to haul some lumber two days ago; we're going to have to build a new coop. There are too many chickens for just the one."

"If Mr. Pentland doesn't mind, that would be fine," I said. "I don't need my trunks right away; I have a few sets of clothes in my suitcase."

"He should be in here today. Do you need anything?" I shook my head. "Good. I'll be right back." Leaving me with the horses, David went into the general store. He returned within five minutes, a wrapped brown-paper package tucked under one arm.

"Something for Alice," he explained, sliding it in his saddlebag. "She must have ordered new slates for the schoolhouse."

"What happened to the old ones?" I asked warily.

David only shook his head, taking Prince's reins from me and swinging up into the saddle. "You don't want to know."

I hauled myself onto Buttons and caught him grinning over at me. He knew I wouldn't be able to stand not knowing.

"Oh, alright," he said. "Apparently some of the hogs have learned how to climb the schoolhouse stairs. The children have been helping us get everything unpacked and ready in the classroom ever since you called to tell us you would be coming back, and Lizette and Bessie came in early one morning to sweep the floors. It seems that the hogs have been sleeping under your desk for the past few weeks, but the girls didn't realize that the room was already occupied until Lizette accidentally hit one of them with her broom. The hogs were as frightened as the girls were, and of course they tried to run away. Well, one of them ended up running into Bessie instead, and it knocked her down."

I gasped. "She wasn't hurt, was she?"

"No. Surprised, but not hurt. But she landed on one of the desks – the desk that was piled with slates that had just been washed – and everything went flying. Most of the slates ended up cracked or bent completely out of shape." David had been trying to keep a straight face, but he broke down and laughed. "Lizette came to get us, and we found the hogs a few minutes later, cowering under the porch."

I couldn't help but giggle at the picture he painted. "I have to say I'm not sorry that I missed that little incident. Poor Bessie!" A horrible thought occurred to me. "You say the hogs were sleeping under _my_ desk?"

"Don't worry. The girls scrubbed the floor down; it doesn't even smell very much anymore."

"That's good to know," I said dryly.

David chuckled, slipping his boots through the stirrups. "Well, are you ready?"

I took up Buttons's reins. "More than ready."

We set the horses off at a clipping rate; it was too slippery to risk going any faster down the mountain trails. I was a much better horsewoman than I had been last year, and Buttons kept pace with Prince easily. David and I chatted as we rode – or rather, he listened while I talked. He was full of curiosity about my parents, and he teased me about "hobnobbing with nobility" at the Hayvescrofts' ball.

"But what about you?" I asked finally, having talked myself out. "How did the Christmas party turn out?"

"It was a success, I'd say. Alice pulled out all the stops – she even bought fireworks again. You should have seen how big the children's eyes were when those firecrackers went off. In fact, some of their parents were just as amazed."

"It must have been wonderful," I said. "Did many people come?"

"Quite a lot, actually. Who wants to shoot stumps to celebrate Christmas when you can see fireworks instead? There were so many people that we almost ran out of food. Luckily most of the families brought something along with them to add to the table. There was only one disappointment."

"What was that?"

"You weren't there to dance with me."

I shifted in my saddle. "You wouldn't have been able to dance with me anyway, David. You're the preacher."

"True." David thankfully let the subject drop.

There was a decided nip in the air, but we made good time and arrived at the river before long; the horses forded it without much trouble, and as we started up the ridge to the mission, I realized that a detour was in order.

"David, wait," I called up ahead to him. "Can we go to the Spencers' first?"

"Why? We're almost home. Can't it wait?"

"No, it can't. Please, David, can't we stop for just a minute? I promised Zady that I would come to see her the day I returned."

David blew out an irritated breath, but then he shrugged, his good humor restored in an instant. "Alright, if you insist. I had forgotten that I can't talk you out of anything."

I bit my tongue and followed him back toward the fork in the path that led up to the Spencer cabin. No barking hounds greeted us this time as we rode into the yard; Jeb must have housed the dogs inside to keep them safe from the cold. David bellowed out a hello, and I saw the wheat-sack curtain being lifted from the window. As I dismounted, the door was flung open and all five Spencer children spilled out into the snowy air. Lulu reached me first, flinging herself at me, and I snatched her up with a breathless laugh. A swarm of hands and flushed, eager faces surrounded me, and for a moment everything was a blur of happy confusion.

Jeb summoned us all inside, smiling at me as I stepped through the doorway. "Reckon we're pleased to see yer back, Miz Christy." It was all he said, but it warmed me just as much as the children's enthusiastic hugs.

It took several minutes for the children to calm down enough to sit still and stop talking over each other. I listened to their stories and answered their questions as best I could, aware of David's impatient presence by the door. It annoyed me, but Zady's delight that I had kept my promise was worth a little inconvenience. Still, I knew it wasn't polite to keep him waiting, so I tried to keep the visit short, assuring the Spencers that I would be coming back as soon as I was settled at the mission.

As we said our goodbyes, I remembered the sweets in my handbag and asked David to go out and fetch them. The children were stirred up again at the thought of candy – they had very little opportunity for receiving treats of any kind, so I always made sure I had a little stash for special occasions.

When the contents of the bag had been fairly distributed, I bid the Spencers farewell once more and received another round of hugs that left behind a bit of a mess as little fingers coated with sticky peppermint oil pressed against my sleeves and the back of my coat.

We went outside, and after untying Buttons's reins from the tree David had lashed them to, I hefted myself atop her back. David urged Prince down the trail, and I followed, twisting in the saddle to wave goodbye to the Spencers.

We cut over the ridge to the mission; I urged Buttons into a quick trot as the church's steeple appeared over the tree line, beckoning us forward like the spire of a lighthouse. Home – I was home! Laughing, I spurred Buttons faster, ignoring David's startled shout as the horse and I flew down the snowy hill. God smiled on me, for He helped the mare keep her footing and prevented me from taking a spill for my recklessness. I pulled up next to the mission house, scarlet-cheeked and out of breath.

David pulled up next to me, looking very much like he wanted to scold me, but I slipped down from Buttons, determined not to let him dampen my high spirits.

Jumping up onto the first step of the mission house, I took a deep breath, my lungs filling with the fresh, sharp mountain air. "It's so beautiful, David. It's like heaven came down to Cutter Gap, Tennessee – don't you feel so _alive?_" I hopped off the stairs and began to walk along the path, my face still lifted to the sky.

He chortled at my ecstatic expression. "Of course I do, daffy girl; now put your head down before you trip over your own feet. You don't want to scuff up those pretty boots again."

I glanced down at my well-shod feet; I hadn't been able to resist indulging my love for elegant heeled shoes. "I don't think I'll have any trouble with them," I retorted, spinning impulsively in a circle and dipping a mocking curtsey in his direction. As I looked up, I realized that Miss Alice was standing in the doorway of her cabin, hiding a smile behind her hand.

I groaned and David smirked, taking Buttons's reins and leading her away, leaving me by myself.

Graciously choosing to ignore my little display, Miss Alice walked over and kissed my cheek. "Miss Huddleston."

I hugged her. "I'm so glad to be back, Miss Alice. I missed you dreadfully."

"No more than I missed you, I'm sure. Your parents are well?"

"They are. So much happened in a month; I can still hardly believe it."

"I will depend on hearing about all of it tonight. It has been too quiet here lately." Miss Alice looped one arm around my waist and led me back toward the mission. "Well, let's get you to the fireplace, dear. You must be chilled."

"I am a little cold."

"Your coat is wet through," she said. "Neil will throw a fit to know that we let you ride through the snow in a soaked jacket without so much as a muff or a hat."

Suddenly it seemed a bit more difficult to breathe. "Is Dr. MacNeill here?"

Miss Alice kept her eyes trained forward. "No, he's not even in the Cove. He should still be in Lufty Branch – he left two or three days ago to do his rounds there."

"Oh."

"I expect he'll be here soon," she said as we reached the porch door and went inside. "He will want to check up on you. If nothing else, you will certainly see him on Sunday."

"Why? Is there something going on this Sunday?"

Miss Alice drew me over to the staircase. "Go up and change your clothes, Christy, and then come back downstairs and we'll have a pot of hot chocolate. David should be in soon, and Opal and her boys will be joining us for dinner tonight." I started up the stairs, only to pause as she added, "And Christy?"

"Yes?"

She smiled. "Welcome back, dear."

* * *

_A/N: I know, I know -- I'm really a jerk to bring Christy back to Cutter Gap and STILL keep her separated from Neil. Well, Ch. 15 will include enough Doc to (hopefully) make up for it. He just needed a grander entrance, really. ; )_

_Thanks for your reviews! (Oh, and as far as the number of chapters goes, I just finished loosely charting out the rest of the plot line, and it should end with around 38 chaps.)  
_

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

IT WAS STRANGE to wake up in my old bed at the mission house. For a moment, as the sunlight filtered into the austere little room, I was disoriented, expecting to open my eyes and see the luxurious furnishings of my bedchamber back in Asheville. Memory returned as quickly as it had gone as pictures flashed into my head and I remembered that I was in Cutter Gap again. Blinking sleepily, I got up, shuffled across the ice-cold floorboards, and threw open the doors to the small balcony. A bitter wind whipped into me, billowing my nightgown and hair, and I rushed to wrap myself in my robe before venturing back outside.

The sun had just risen and the mountains lay beyond the trees, washed with purple and the deepest, most vivid blue I had ever seen; I didn't think that such a color existed anywhere but here in these hills. The air was clean and crisp, and I stood for a few long minutes admiring the scene, oblivious to the chill of the snow under my bare feet.

There was a knock at the door, and Miss Ida's voice called impatiently for me to come downstairs for breakfast. I hurried to dress and fix my hair.

David hadn't come in from his bunkhouse yet, but Miss Ida loaded my plate anyway, unbending so far as to give me a wooden smile. I'd missed her too, I realized...but I'd missed her delectable corn muffins even more.

I was already on my third muffin when the porch door swung open and David wandered into the room, dressed in a plaid shirt and ragged overalls. Miss Ida shook her head over the sight, but I said, "Going to a working, David?"

He plopped down into his chair and reached for the platter stacked with toast. "Nope. It's about time I started on that chicken coop. The hens aren't very happy with the crowded conditions."

"They've put off their laying," Miss Ida informed me, passing the coffee pot to her brother, "so don't expect any eggs until the coop is finished."

"I'm not looking forward to it," David admitted. "It'll be the worst chicken coop anyone has ever built in Cutter Gap. I don't suppose you want to help out, Christy?"

I responded to his teasing with a laugh. "I'd be glad to help, but I'm not sure the chickens would appreciate it."

"You can hardly pound a nail in straight," was Miss Ida's tart remark.

I could only shrug. Artistry wasn't something that ran in our family.

We finished up breakfast quickly, since David wanted to get to work as soon as he could, and Ida and I saw no point in lingering at the table. Miss Alice had gone up to Raven Mountain for the day, so I decided to use my free time to visit the schoolhouse. Miss Ida sent me on my way with a warning not to touch the inside walls, for David had just put a fresh coat of varnish on them.

The room was arranged exactly as I had left it, except that someone had obviously been readying it for the new school year. The storage crates had been unpacked; the bookshelves were filled with textbooks and pamphlets, art supplies and paper were stacked neatly on the counter. The floors were spotless, and even my desk had been scrubbed down and waxed. I would have to think of something special to give the children for all their hard work.

There was really very little for me to do, so after checking that everything was in order, I left. I knew Miss Ida was busy canning preserves in the kitchen; I had volunteered for the task once before and ended up breaking two jars, and she had banned me from helping ever since.

The O'Teale cabin was nearby, almost the same distance from the mission as the Spencers', only it was located on the cusp of a hill on the opposite side of the field – I decided that I would pay a visit. I hoped Swannie wouldn't mind my coming without an invitation. Thrusting my stinging hands in my coat pockets, I forded the shallow trenches of the morning's snowfall, trying not to lose my balance.

The walk didn't take long. I went through the yard, carefully avoiding the half-skinned rabbit corpse that hung from a tree branch near the porch, and went to knock on the door.

Swannie opened it. "Waal, come in, Miz Christy." She moved aside, reaching up to futilely smooth the stringy strands of hair that fell across her brow. "The young'uns and I was jest settin' down ter dinner."

The moment I stepped across the threshold, the awful stench of boiling fat, grease and smoke, and other unmentionable smells assaulted my nose. I had never really become accustomed to the O'Teale cabin, but fortunately, my stomach had stopped lurching each time I visited.

The O'Teales were sitting around the lopsided table, bowls of some sort of porridge set in front of them. They abandoned their lunch, however, when Swannie and I came inside. Little Mary was the first to reach us, wrapping her arms around my legs and holding tight, and Mountie timidly came up to put her hand in mine. Orter Ball and Smith were considerably more reserved; Smith merely nodded to me, but Orter Ball smiled his shy, gap-toothed smile, scooting across the bench to make room for me.

The children were as full of questions as the Spencers had been, eager to hear about my trip to Asheville – to hear them speak of it, my hometown was apparently as far away from Cutter Gap as the moon was! Even Smith asked me more about the automobiles I mentioned, and when I finished my explanation, he looked disbelieving, as though a "horseless carriage" was quite beyond his imagination. And then again, I supposed, it was.

Swannie, as curious as her children, soon came to sit down with us, getting up once and awhile to bring a bit of oatmeal or bread to Wilmer, who still sat in his little enclosed pen; the rolling eyes and streamers of spittle running down his chin didn't disturb me nearly so much as they had the first time I had met the oldest O'Teale boy; at least I no longer jumped every time he hollered for his mother's attention.

Mountie crawled up onto my knee and sat tranquilly while I listened to Orter Ball and Mary talk about the Christmas jollification. She spoke up only once, to ask haltingly if school would start now that I was home.

I assured her that it would as soon as everything was arranged. A little cheer went up from the other children, and Mountie smiled at me, her pretty blue eyes bright and eager. I spent an enjoyable half-hour with the O'Teales until the strong odors started to give me a headache, so I said goodbye and headed back to the mission.

I was nearly as excited for school to start as the children were, and on the walk home, I resolved to ask David when the schoolroom would be ready. He had yet to install the new windows, and I certainly wasn't going to subject my students or myself to the freezing open-air drafts. I hoped he would hurry.

This year would be a good one, I decided. I was well-rested and impatient to get back to work; no longer was I a green, untried teacher, and I knew and loved my students well enough to know how to deal with most of the problems that would undoubtedly come up. Also, I had done a little research of my own during my stay in Asheville, and there were several new things I wanted to try with my class.

I thought back to the initial lesson plans that I had written for my first year of teaching, and I laughed at the ignorant girl I'd been, with my dreams of teaching the children proper table manners and how to speak French.

I hoped that this year my hopes would be at least a little more realistic.

* * *

EVERYONE AT THE mission rose early on Sunday mornings, and this week was no exception. In a month, I had already become unused to waking at the crack of dawn, and I stumbled out of bed and cleaned up, still only half-awake. The icy-cold water in the washbasin did the trick, however, and I was alert and shivering by the time breakfast was ready.

I had decided on a whim to wear one of the dresses I had brought from Asheville. My favorite was the blue ensemble Daddy had given me on Christmas morning; the shirt-waist was sapphire-colored silk with a silver sheen, wonderfully sleek and elegant, and it was matched with a darker skirt, crimped at the hem so that it swirled around my ankles.

It was too fancy even for church, but I loved it and the feeling of confidence it gave me, so I took my chances. After a hasty breakfast, David left to open up the church, and Miss Ida and I followed soon after as the first of the parishioners began to arrive.

Being a Quaker, Miss Alice never attended services, but I could see her faint figure on the porch of her cabin; she often sat out on the rocker in the mornings and read her Bible. The yard was filled with quiet laughter and talk as people poured into the little building; as the Allens passed by to take their places, Little Burl caught sight of me and waved.

I waved back and had just started up the stairs myself when someone tapped me lightly on the shoulder.

"Welcome home, Miss Huddleston."

I knew that voice. Whirling around, I found Dr. MacNeill standing on the step below, smiling up at me. I stared at him for a moment, my thoughts all in confusion – he met my eyes steadily, a hint of amusement playing about his mouth.

"Hello," I said stupidly.

He moved up to stand next to me, walking over to the far side of the railing to let the others pass on into the church. I turned to face him, and his physician's eyes gave me a quick, no-nonsense scan. He appeared to be satisfied with what he saw. "Feeling better?"

It took me a moment to get my thoughts and my tongue to cooperate. "I'm fine, thank you, Doctor." It sounded so stiff and formal that I winced.

"Good." He cleared his throat. "No headaches or dizziness? No nausea?"

"No." I could scarcely force the word past – my throat ached with disappointment. Was that all we could find to say? We hadn't seen each other in a month, and he was asking me whether I was nauseated?

Looking down at my feet, I fell silent, and there was an ungainly pause; I peeked at the Doctor, who was watching me closely, and for the first time, I took note of his appearance. He was neatly dressed in spotless buff trousers and a black coat – why, he was even wearing a necktie! His fiery hair was still as wild as ever, though; I doubted that any amount of combing could subdue it.

"What are you doing here?" I blurted out.

Golden-red brows arched up. "I live here. I didn't think you'd been away that long."

The awful tension broke at once, and I laughed aloud. "I meant here at the church, Doctor." I remembered the last time he had arrived at the mission on a Sunday, when he pulled me away to help assist with Little Burl's surgery. "No one is hurt, are they? Do you need Miss Alice?"

For the first time, something like doubt flickered along his face. "No, no one's hurt. I'm just here like everyone else is."

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. "Here? At church – in the church? You're coming to church?"

He reached up to tug uncomfortably at his starched collar. "Yes."

I was stunned.

"I've been coming for a few weeks," he admitted, his voice so soft I could scarcely hear it. "I've been enjoying it, so I thought I might try to make it a habit." He smiled then, and that strange, boyish look of uncertainty was replaced by his usual air of confidence. "I think our friends have finally gotten over the shock of it." Glancing inside at the benches that were rapidly filling, he said slowly, "There's something...comforting...about this place."

I had the maddest urge to throw my arms around his neck and hug him tight, but luckily common sense kicked in and I took a prudent step backwards. "I'm very happy for you, Doctor," I managed to say. "Very happy."

"I thought you might approve. Not everyone has." He turned to look toward the doorway. "And you ought to set a better example for me, Miss Huddleston – we're already late for the service."

With a start, I realized that we were alone on the porch. The Doctor gestured for me to go in first, and as we passed through the doorway to join the rest of the congregation, I whispered, "I would like to talk to you – will you meet me by the pond after church?"

"I would be glad to." He deposited me next to Opal and crossed over to the men's side to sit with Jeb and John Spencer. He was easily visible from my position near the doors, and I admit that I was shamefully inattentive to the prayer that David opened the service with. I admired the gentle curl of the Doctor's hair over his white collar and the breadth of his shoulders in that striking black fabric.

After I had looked my fill, the significance of his presence here at the church began to sink in. Dr. MacNeill, a believer! I was glad for his own sake, but it would prove a great blessing to the mission as well. Only imagine what we could accomplish with the Doctor's cooperation and support. We could improve hygiene and housing conditions; perhaps he might even be willing to teach some of the adult classes we had once discussed. Dr. MacNeill would be a very valuable ally.

David, tall and dignified in his pastoral garb, was preaching about the mercy of the Lord and the importance of emulating that grace in our dealings with others, but I didn't catch much more than that. My eyes kept going involuntarily back to the man seated three rows ahead, and that irritated me. I hated not feeling in control of myself.

Before I knew it, the sermon was over and the hymns started. Jeb took out his dulcimer and led the congregation in the usual songs, and the sound of a hundred voices rose up into the mountain air. It was an awesome thing to hear – feet stomped and hands clapped as we sang loudly and without reserve. The almost boisterous level of noise would shock my parents' congregation back home, I knew; the lack of ceremony had seemed almost sacrilegious to me too at first. Now I found I preferred it to the serene hum of the pipe organ and the well-trained choir; this seemed more honest, somehow.

We finished through the hymns with enthusiasm, though I saw Opal flinch once or twice when I strayed too far off-key. Jeb sat back down, and David stepped forward to say the closing prayers and the benediction.

I made my escape quickly, sidestepping the crowd gathering to chat outside in the yard, and went directly to the small pond at the edge of the mission property to wait for the Doctor. I patted my skirt to make sure the letter was stowed safely inside. I had been carrying it with me lately on the off-chance that the Doctor would stop at the mission after his rounds.

It didn't take long for Dr. MacNeill to catch up with me. He came to stand by my side, and I fidgeted, all too aware of his imposing presence. "Shall we walk?"

"Sure."

We wound around behind the trees, close to the water's edge. The pond was coated with a layer of delicate ice from the night's chill, and the sunlight reflected painfully off of it. I turned my head toward the woods instead, but that meant that I had to face the Doctor.

The tension between us stretched out and became unbearable. "How have you been?" I asked finally. "I hope there haven't been any emergencies."

"No. Nothing serious, anyway. Did you have a good time with your parents?"

"I did. It was wonderful to be with them for Christmas." I paused. "You look nice today. I've never seen you in a suit."

My compliment obviously took him by surprise. "Thank you. You look very pretty yourself. Is that dress new? I don't think I've seen it before."

I blushed and smoothed down my skirt, absurdly pleased that he had noticed. "It was a gift from my parents." I suddenly remembered my purpose and reached into my pocket. "I wanted to give you this." I offered Dr. MacNeill the slightly crumpled envelope. "It's from my father."

He accepted it with some confusion and turned it over in his hands, as though he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. After some hesitation, he slit it open, and I saw his eyes widen as he read the certificate.

"It's a thank-you from him for taking such good care of me," I clarified. "We're all very grateful; there really isn't any way to repay you, but Daddy wanted to do something."

"You don't owe me anything," he said quietly.

"You saved my life," I protested. "If that isn't worth gratitude, I don't know what is."

His expression was grim. "I'm a doctor, Christy. That's what I'm trained to do."

I drew back in astonishment; he looked so disapproving. What had I said to make him angry? "I'm sorry if you don't like it," I said, a little coldly.

"Liking it has nothing to do with it." He waved the check in the air. "This is far too generous. I can't accept it."

"You had better accept it. Besides, it isn't for you," I retorted. "It's for your patients."

A hint of a smile finally surfaced. "Alright, Christy, you win. This will give me more than enough to replenish everything I'll need for the next year." He folded the paper up carefully and tucked it inside his coat. "I must thank your father for this."

I breathed a sigh of relief, and we walked on, wandering all the way around the pond back to where we had started.

"Will you be starting school again soon?" Dr. MacNeill asked, absently kicking a large stone out of our path. "I know the children have been eager to return."

"I hope to start as soon as possible. I have so many plans for the children this year. One of my mother's friends was a schoolteacher for many years, and I had the opportunity to talk with her over the holidays. She gave me so many clever ideas – I can't wait to try them."

"What sort of ideas?"

That was all the opening I needed. Since he looked genuinely interested, I went off on a tangent, babbling about all the teaching methods that Mrs. Price had deemed her most successful. The woman had been full of wisdom and humor, and her ideas had been so intriguing that I had cornered her for an entire afternoon to hear about her experiences in the classroom and record her advice.

To my surprise, Dr. MacNeill seemed to approve of most of the schemes; in particular, he liked the idea of setting up student-tutors. "It would take some of the workload off you, and it might be easier for the students to accept help from a classmate," he said. "The children want to please you, Christy, so they might be afraid to ask questions for fear of looking ignorant in front of you. They might learn better with these student-tutors – someone their own age could explain things in a way they can understand, and it shouldn't embarrass them as much to ask for extra help."

"That's exactly what I thought. Mrs. Price assured me that it worked perfectly well with all the classes she tried it in. She said being a tutor gave them confidence in their abilities. I'm sure the older students would consider it an honor; they were excited about the Junior Teacher program I put in last semester. I hope this will work just as well."

"I'm sure it will." He grinned at me. "You're too stubborn to let it fail."

We were so deep in conversation that I didn't realize we were no longer alone until Dr. MacNeill stopped mid-sentence to look over my shoulder. I twisted around to see David walking toward us, a scowl plastered on his face.

He stopped short of the trees, his eyes flickering back and forth between us. "Christy, I was wondering where you were."

"Dr. MacNeill was kind enough to take a walk with me. We were talking about school," I said.

David's eyes narrowed. "I wondered if you had a medical complaint – you looked kind of distracted during church, Christy. I thought maybe you didn't feel well."

I didn't reply, unwilling to admit that I had been too busy ogling the Doctor to pay attention to the sermon.

Dr. MacNeill cleared his throat. "It was a fine service, Grantland."

"Thanks." David smiled, but it was a humorless smile. He turned to me. "You'd better come in now, Christy. Ida will be in a temper for the rest of the day if we're late to dinner."

I looked over at Dr. MacNeill hopefully. "Would you like — "

"I'm sure the Doctor will excuse us," David interrupted. "He knows how much my sister dislikes any disruption in her schedule, and he certainly wouldn't want to keep us any longer."

"Of course not," Dr. MacNeill said tonelessly. "Goodbye, Reverend, Miss Huddleston."

I was infuriated by David's rudeness, but the look the Doctor gave me warned me not to make a fuss, so I kept silent. David's hand clutched my arm, steering me toward the mission house, but I looked back over my shoulder to watch Dr. MacNeill's retreating figure until he faded into the patchwork of trees.

As we entered the house, David's grip eased, but he still looked stern. "You shouldn't be wandering around without a coat, you know," he said suddenly, as we started into the kitchen where Miss Alice was already settled. "It's starting to get cold, and if you wanted to take a walk, you should have asked me to walk with you. It's only been a month since you got out of your sickbed. Tell me the next time you plan to go out."

This imperious order was the last straw. "You are insufferably rude, David Grantland," I snapped. Without another word, I turned heel and marched back up the stairs to my room. I closed the door and latched it firmly, still seething.

David and I were on a collision course for disaster. The ride back to the Cove would have been a perfect opportunity to tell him about my decision; we had been alone for a long stretch of time, where no one else could overhear or interrupt us. I could have told him right away that I was not interested in marriage, and it would have been over. Why hadn't I just told him?

I flopped back onto the bed and groaned. Lord help me, I was such a coward.

* * *

_A/N: The Doc is now officially back in the picture...even if he did end up getting shoved aside once again. Poor guy. ; ) _

_Sorry this chapter is a little late; I was totally uninspired this week. Thanks for your patience and reviews!_

* * *


	16. Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

DAVID DIDN'T COME in for supper that evening, and I suspected that both Miss Alice and Ida knew why. I hadn't spoken loudly, but the walls of the house were thin – one could hardly help overhearing.

It was a very uncomfortable meal; Miss Ida was looking everywhere but at me and kept stonily silent. My mentor appeared to be lost in her own thoughts, so I sat quietly, eating without tasting anything, my stomach in a churn of guilt and regret.

Miss Ida soon left to wash the dishes, and I knew my help wouldn't be welcomed. I had started aimlessly out the door when Miss Alice finally spoke. "I believe David is down by the barn."

I turned to her, but her face revealed nothing – no sympathy or condemnation. I felt my chin tremble and clenched my teeth to stop it. One sign of compassion from her, and I might break down. "What do I do?"

Those solemn grey eyes never left mine. "You must not let your feelings get in the way of what you know to be right." Taking a delicate sip from the teacup in front of her, she added, "Go on now, Christy. You'll know what to do."

I walked outside blindly, moving without conscious direction toward the barn. I saw David by the fence, his elbows propped behind him on the posts, though he straightened up as soon as he noticed me.

It was dark enough that the first stars had come out, but I couldn't see him very clearly. I walked over to stand with him, both of us gazing at the moon, hanging full and bright in the night sky.

"I'm sorry, Christy," he said after a moment. "I had no right to lord over you like that."

"Your apology is accepted. I'm sorry for calling you insufferably rude."

I couldn't tell for certain, but I thought that he was smiling. "Apology accepted too." I felt his fingers close warmly around my hand. Heart pounding, I pulled gently away. "David...David, we need to talk."

"Christy." He cleared his throat. "It's awfully late. We can talk tomorrow."

"No we can't," I said softly. "We need to settle things now."

He sighed and hoisted himself to sit on the top rung of the fence, and I perched next to him. Moonlight spilled across us, and my resolution to continue was almost overpowered by the look on his face.

The right words – I prayed for the right words. David meant so much to me. He was a good man, and he deserved to be loved by someone who could touch that emotion he buried so deeply inside himself. I couldn't give him the answers – I didn't have the power to quench that desperate desire he had for an understanding of his place in the world. David struggled with his God, and I couldn't carry the burden of his demons for him.

In his eyes, it was straightforward business: I had come to Cutter Gap to do God's work, just as he had; he was as attracted to me as I was to him; and we were both young and shared many of the same philosophies and ideas. To David, nothing could be more logical or sensible than marriage.

Handsome, gentle-mannered, and upright, he would make an ideal husband for any woman; by all accounts, I should have been head-over-heels in love with him. There was no defect in him strong enough to put me off; circumstances seemed to have placed us together, and many times I had mulled over his declaration, wondering if he was right, if God had brought us together for a purpose. Yet, I could never bring myself to say 'yes.'

"David," I began, at a loss for how to start, "I think you know what I want to say."

He kept silent. My heart was in my throat, and a sudden panic overtook me. What could I say? How could I possibly explain my decision without completely alienating us from each other?

_Oh, God, help me._ "Can I speak frankly, David?"

"I don't think I could stop you from saying exactly what you want to say."

_Be direct, Christy. Be direct, and tell him the truth_. "David, I know we haven't talked about it in several months, but I don't think marriage is the right thing for us. In fact, I think a... a romantic relationship shouldn't be...that we shouldn't be thinking about that anymore. I can't marry you. I'm sorry."

He was quiet for a long time, and I moved restlessly, wishing I knew what he was thinking. "And I suppose you just decided this?"

"No," I said, unable to look him in the eye. "I've known it for a while now, and I should have told you right away."

"You should have," he said, with a peculiar calmness.

"You have to believe that I never wanted to hurt you."

He didn't appear to hear what I said. "Is it because of MacNeill?"

I remembered David's accusations at the bunkhouse all too well. His jealousy had been disturbing then – now, with all this considered, I wondered if his earlier resentment toward the Doctor had not been spurred on by an impending sense of this loss. With his past words still fresh in my mind, I answered carefully but honestly. "Even if Dr. MacNeill had never figured into this at all, my choice would have been the same, just as my reservations about our marriage would have been the same. I could not have accepted your ring, David. Please don't think that I rejected you in favor of another man."

"Small comfort." He thrust his hands in his pockets and turned his face away. Moonbeams slashed across his nose and brow; I watched his brown eyes glitter in the light.

I felt terrible. "I do love you, David – very much, but just not in _that_ way. I value our friendship and I don't want to lose you because of this."

"You make it sound so insignificant. I was in love with you, Christy."

"Did you really want to marry me, David?"

He didn't answer.

"We probably would have been content together," I said. "We might have even been perfectly happy, but I think some part of us – of both of us – would have regretted it."

Something softened in his face, and I thought that I might have gotten through to him. "If you're worried about what people might say, that shouldn't be a problem. No one in Cutter Gap needs to know," I promised him. "If some gossip should come up, I'll let them think that you withdrew your proposal."

His jaw tightened, and the moment of harmony was gone. "Don't bother. You know how people here talk. You may as well tell them the truth."

"I wasn't going to lie." I tried not to let my frustration show. "Can't we let this go? I think we can work together just fine, once we get used to things."

"Yeah, sure." David gazed at me soberly, his eyes very dark. "I need to go now – I have to get up early tomorrow." He hopped down from the fence and started to walk away.

"David, don't be like this," I cried.

"Don't be like what?" For the first time, I heard anger in his voice. "What do you want me to say, Christy? Do you expect me to be happy for you? Do you want a blessing from me? Or maybe you'd like me to officiate at your wedding?"

"Don't keep dragging the Doctor into this. It's between you and me."

"Look, you said your piece, and now I've said mine. There really isn't anything else to discuss. Goodnight." Without looking back at me, he took off in the direction of his bunkhouse.

I slid off the fence post, and to my astonishment, my legs were shaking. I sat down right there on the ground, not bothering to worry about getting my new dress dirty. I'd told the truth and cleared my conscience – I'd done the right thing.

Then why, I wondered, did I feel like such a failure?

* * *

SCHOOL OPENED ON the first day of February. It was quite a production – some of the children arrived a full hour early, vying for the honor of cleaning the blackboard or stoking the fire in the old pot-bellied furnace. Almost everyone was neatly dressed, and most of my students were wearing shoes, however tattered or ill-fitting.

That small reminder of success kept me from becoming too nervous, if I had indeed felt any nervousness at all. I stood on the steps and rang the handbell, relishing the sight of a full classroom teeming with sixty-six excited children.

Roll call was the first order of business; with the help of Lizette Holcombe and Rob Allen, I moved along the rows, jotting down names and ages. There were some new faces in the crowd this year – Mary-Ellen Bradley was old enough to come with her brothers to the schoolhouse now, and there were a few other little ones who had older siblings in my class.

There were, unfortunately, also several empty seats. Lundy Taylor and Wraight Holt were conspicuously absent, buried up on Persimmon Hill; and Smith O'Teale had come to the mission the day before to inform me that he wouldn't be coming to school anymore. His family needed a man around the house to hunt and look after the land, and since Mr. O'Teale hadn't been seen in nearly a year, Smith supposed that he'd better take up the mantle of responsibility sooner rather than later. I was sorry to see him go, for he'd made considerable progress, but I didn't try to change his mind.

I had started down the third row when Creed Allen, looking as energetic and impish as ever, thrust his lunch-pail toward me. "Got a present fer ya, Teacher."

It was a trick as old as time, but I didn't want to spoil the prank for him or for the others eagerly waiting for my reaction. I would let it go just this once, I decided.

With an inward sigh of resignation, I pried open the lid and was confronted with the sight of a fat green toad sitting placidly inside. Perhaps thinking to make his escape, the poor creature leapt up at me; I dropped the pail with a shriek, sending it and its undoubtedly terrified cargo bouncing across the schoolroom floor. The children hooted with glee as the toad took off toward my desk, but Festus Allen bent and scooped it up.

"Want this outside, Teacher?"

I nodded gratefully as Festus went to deposit the toad in the yard, and after picking up the pail, I gave it to Creed. "No more toads, okay?"

His cherubic blue eyes peered up at me. "No toads, cross my heart."

"Or crickets."

"But, Teacher..."

"Or snakes. Or raccoons, or anything else that doesn't belong in here."

"Shucks, that ain't no fun."

"Isn't any fun," I corrected automatically. "Promise me you won't bring them in."

"Not even Scalawag? Cain't he come fer a visit?"

"Maybe," I conceded, "but Scalawag is a pet. No _wild_ critters, Creed Allen. Got that?"

He spit on his palm and thrust it out toward me. "Got it. Put 'er thar."

I shook his hand, inwardly grimacing; with our pact sealed, Creed was content to sit down quietly – or at least relatively quietly – but it took nearly ten minutes to settle the rest of the class down. We started out with music, something that I knew the children would willingly focus on. After singing "America the Beautiful" and the endless verses of "Sourwood Mountain," I announced that we would have a reading lesson. To my surprise, not one voice rose up in protest, and I sent my junior teachers to help pass out the crisp new primers.

The children handled the books very cautiously, and I could see that Rob Allen was itching to look inside. "You may open your books," I instructed the class, "and please turn to the page marked 'Chapter One.' There is an introductory paragraph to read, and the next six pages contain two short stories. Your assignment is to read these stories and be prepared to tell the class whether you liked them or disliked them and why." I addressed the group of primary students, aged 5 through 7, who sat at the front of the room. "While the older students read silently to themselves, we'll read aloud out on the porch so we won't disturb them." Facing the entire class again, I added, "If any of you have a question about a word's meaning or its pronunciation, you may ask a neighbor or one of the junior teachers for help. Any questions?"

The children set to work, and I collected the little ones and went out on the porch. They circled around me, except for tiny Vella Holt, who waited until I sat down before plopping herself on my lap. I read the stories, having the students take turns pointing at the words as I said them.

After reading, we had an informal spelling test – I wanted to see how much my returning students remembered from last year. Mathematics class was next, and was met with greater enthusiasm than the spelling had been. Most of the children liked working figures, and the blackboard drills gave them an opportunity to win one of the coveted mission-barrel prizes. In fact, most of the mittens and scarves and almost all of the shoes my students were wearing had come from the barrel.

At one o'clock, I dismissed the class for the "dinner-spell" and sat on the steps to eat my lunch, watching the children romp in the snow. I felt a warm glow of contentment in spite of the chilly air – I had missed this so much.

During the break, I was approached by several of the older students; Rob shyly asked if there were any new books I had brought for the classroom bookshelf – he had already read every novel and volume of poetry that we had – and John Spencer and Lizette both wanted to know if there were any algebra texts.

Fortunately, Father had been generous enough to offer to buy some new supplies that I thought would benefit the class, and I had chosen a few of my own books to take along. I promised Lizette and John that I would have algebra and calculus books available for them by tomorrow, and I gave Rob one of my personal favorites, a beautifully-illustrated copy of _Treasure Island_. Rob was always very careful with the books he borrowed, so I had no hesitation in trusting him with it.

The children soon came in from lunch, and we had our science activity before David arrived at two-thirty to teach Bible class. I did my best to stay out of his way. Our relationship had been strained for the past two weeks; he went out of his way to avoid me, and I didn't try to force a confrontation.

Finally, reluctantly, I called an end to the day's study; we sang one more round of "Sourwood Mountain," and I bid the children goodbye. They spilled out of the door and down the steps, running and shouting, their laughter ringing high and sweet.

Many of them hung back to talk to me, and it was well after four o'clock when the classroom was finally empty and I could head back to the mission house for supper. As I passed Miss Alice's cabin, however, she stepped outside and welcomed me in for a cup of cocoa and a chat.

"So, how was your first day back?" she asked as we sat down in front of the blazing fireplace.

I talked and talked, giving her a minute-by-minute account of the day's activities. She laughed when I told her about Creed's "present" and nodded approvingly to hear that Lizette and John were interested in starting higher mathematics courses.

"That's exactly what our mission is all about," she mused, handing me a steaming cup of hot chocolate. "Our job is to provide the tools to finish the work – we can't force people to accept our help or believe what we believe, but we can lay the groundwork. You are giving these children the means to receive an education; whether they put it to use is entirely up to them." She hesitated deliberately and then said, "It is a relief to see thee smiling again, Christy."

I stared down at my murky reflection on the surface of the cocoa, rippling and distorting with every movement. "I haven't been myself lately. David and I...had words."

Miss Alice did not reply; instead she rose and fetched a half-knitted scarf, made of pale green yarn, from the table. She handed it to me, and I took it, smoothing my fingers across the soft wool.

"I started that scarf two weeks ago," she said. "I love to knit; I find there is something soothing about working with one's hands to make something useful. But you see that I have not finished. When my mind is occupied with other things, I cannot concentrate, and the yarn unravels and knots, destroying the pattern of the stitches – and when I try to undo the damage, it only becomes more hopelessly entangled." She reached over and gently removed the scarf from my hands. "What I must do is stop demanding perfection of my work, because I only make it worse. Do you see those uneven lines there? I have left them as they are, not because I wanted to, but because I have no choice but to move on if I want to finish the scarf. I have to accept that the completed project may not be perfectly beautiful – that there may be mistakes and weak stitches. Still, the scarf will serve the purpose it was meant for; it will keep someone warm this winter."

"But David..."

Miss Alice only shook her head. "Be patient, my dear. He is struggling with himself too." She paused, and a little spark of mischief lit in her calm eyes. "David is not much of a knitter either."

* * *

_A/N: Ah, Miss Alice and her lovely metaphors. ; ) Forget the scarf – right now I'm guessing that most of you probably want to go after David with the knitting _needles_, am I right? Run, David, run! Flee the wrath of Neil-fangirls! _:D

_Thanks as always for your reviews!  
_

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	17. Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHORES WERE AN unpleasant necessity at the mission house – Mother would be horrified to see me milking the cow and scattering feed for the chickens, who were now comfortably settled in the new coop.

I had discovered long ago that rising early was the key to having some free time to work on my lesson plans; I disliked waking with the sunrise, but I forced myself to get out of bed and get to work. Often I wondered how the mountain women could bear it, for in addition to all these mundane tasks, they had families and homes to care for; but somehow they managed it, and that with such perfect aplomb that I was ashamed of my pettiness.

Fortunately, the chickens didn't require much attention beyond their morning meal, and the fresh water had usually been brought in by Miss Ida by the time I came downstairs. I had been very hesitant about milking anything – it sounded like an unseemly business – but Harriet was a placid, sedentary sort of cow who wasn't at all offended by the invasion of her personal space.

I found that I actually liked the task, once I got over the strangeness of it all. This morning Harriet was particularly obliging, not even moving away once in search of a better pile of hay or overturning the pail. In no time at all, I had filled two large buckets with fresh milk.

"Thank you, Harriet," I said, getting up from the stool and placing the lids securely over the pails.

Harriet made a grunting sound and turned back to her food – she wasn't much of a conversationalist.

I had just towed the milk pails into the kitchen when Dr. MacNeill appeared on the trail outside the mission, riding Charlie at a plodding pace; I felt a sudden, paralyzing rush of fear upon seeing his bent head and slumped shoulders – for a moment, I thought that something dreadful had happened to him. Even while my eyes were scouring his form frantically for any sign of bloodstains, he lifted his head and caught sight of me.

Immediately he straightened in the saddle, and I breathed a sigh of relief; that relief was short-lived, however, as I hurried up the path to meet him. As soon as I was close enough to see his face, I stopped dead.

"You look awful!" I blurted out.

He gave me a ghost of a smile. "I was at the Holcombes' all night. Sam Houston broke his arm."

"Oh, no! What happened?"

"He slipped on some river rocks and landed on his right shoulder; his arm bent out at the elbow and it snapped clean through. To make things worse, it was a compound fracture."

"A compound fracture?"

"The bone came through the skin."

I shuddered.

"He'll be fine," he said, reading my expression. "I set it without too many problems and stitched up the cut, and as long as he keeps his arm immobile and clean, there shouldn't be any complications. You might want to go over and see him later; he's a brave boy, but it wasn't a pleasant experience for him."

"Of course I will." I studied his wan, pinched face. "You must be exhausted – you should be home resting."

"I had to come by first to see if there were any other calls while I was away. Is Alice at the cabin?"

"She's off at the Barclays' – Granny wanted to talk to her. But no one called for her medical services yesterday, at least to my knowledge."

"I'll come back later. Have a good day, Christy." Gripping the saddle pommel, as if he thought he might very well tumble off Charlie's back, he started back down the trail.

"Dr. MacNeill, wait!" I cried. "Come inside and have something to eat, at least. David went to El Pano today with Miss Ida – I'm sure he won't mind if you caught a few hours of sleep in the bunkhouse."

"I'd better not."

"What about breakfast?"

Before he could refuse, his stomach replied for him, rumbling loudly.

"I believe I have my answer," I laughed. "Come on." I started off toward the house, beckoning him forward. He came, swinging off Charlie to walk alongside me.

While the Doctor stabled Charlie in the barn, I searched the kitchen for something to eat. A loaf of bread sat cooling on the counter, but there were no leftovers from my meager breakfast but an apple and a stale, three-day old biscuit; to make anything else would take time. I sliced a thick slab of bread and opened a can of strawberry jam.

"This is all I can offer you for now," I said apologetically, coming back into the dining room where Dr. MacNeill had seated himself, "but if you don't mind waiting awhile, I can cook you a hot breakfast. Toast, eggs, ham – whatever you want."

"You don't have to go to all that trouble, Christy," he said, accepting the bread.

"Look, why don't you get some sleep first? Then I can make lunch for both of us. Miss Ida left me to fend for myself anyway – I would like the company, and if you're willing to wait, I promise I'll make something good."

It was a blatant piece of bribery, but I could see that he wanted to stay, even though his pride rebelled against accepting the offer.

Fortunately,_ I_ wasn't too proud to beg. "Please?"

He hesitated. "If you're sure. I can help with the cooking."

"I'll manage just fine. You look so tired; you're in no condition to be going anywhere. Go upstairs – there are two perfectly good beds."

"I couldn't do that. Look at me – I'm covered in dust. I would ruin the bedding."

"Dust washes off."

"It wouldn't be right to stay here while Alice and Grantland are away."

I gave him my best 'teacherly' look. "Fiddlesticks. You _will_ get some sleep."

We glared at each other, wills clashing. Dr. MacNeill's gaze was piercing, but I wasn't going to back down. The stupid man would fall right off his horse if he tried to ride two miles when he could hardly keep his eyes open.

"The couch will do fine," he said at last, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "I don't want to stay long. Just a few minutes."

I tried very hard not to look smug. Leaving him to tug off his filthy boots and coat, I fetched two blankets and a pillow from the linen closet.

"Just a few minutes," he reminded me, as he settled down on the couch.

"Of course."

He slept for three hours. I sat by the fireplace and tried to mend the pile of torn stockings that David had left, but I ended up spending the majority of my time staring at the Doctor. There were still ashy rings under his eyes, but I was struck by how different he looked when he was asleep. His eyelashes, colored the same red-gold as his eyebrows, were longer than I had thought, resting delicately on his high cheekbones. The lines of his generous mouth had relaxed into something like a smile; deep furrows around his nose and lips eased – his face was younger somehow, softer, more approachable.

In his own odd way, I decided, he was actually an attractive man. His eyes tended to overshadow the rest of his features; they were arresting, demanding the attention of whoever they happened to be fixed on. When they were covered, he was a great deal less intimidating. As I watched, his nose twitched and he burrowed his face in the pillow, as though he was aware of my rude scrutiny.

Something soft and tender stole through me. I had the strangest compulsion to go tuck in his blankets and give him a goodnight kiss. I laughed at the thought – what a shameless girl I was. Oh, but the good Doctor's surprise would be such fun to see!

As the clock struck eleven, I rose quietly and went into the kitchen to start lunch. There were ham steaks and strips of salted beef in the root cellar, and I sliced some potatoes to fry over the stove. What else? I rootled through the cupboards until I found a large jar of spiced peaches. I didn't know if the Doctor had much of a sweet tooth, but Miss Ida did make the best preserves.

I almost dropped the jar as a hand touched my shoulder – Dr. MacNeill's stockinged feet hadn't made a sound on the floorboards.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," he said, moving back to give me a chance to catch my breath. "I wanted to know if there was something I could do to help." He still looked tired, but the glassiness in his eyes was gone.

I set him to work pan-frying the ham while I finished the potatoes and cornbread. There was something comfortably domestic about sharing the kitchen with a man – he clearly knew what he was doing too.

When everything was finished, we brought the food out to the table, and the Doctor courteously pulled out a chair for me. We ate and chatted, and I was astonished to realize how easy it was to talk to him; I had always felt vaguely cowed by his domineering manner. Had I changed? Or, I thought, looking at his smiling face, had_ he_ changed? There was something about him that was different, surely.

He told me about his latest calls, making me laugh and cringe in turn, and then asked me how school was progressing.

"Quite well, actually; it's good to have something to look forward to in the mornings. I'm afraid you can't get rid of me now," I teased.

"To be honest, Christy, I didn't think you were coming back at all." Dr. MacNeill saw my surprise and added, "I've been to the city before – I know what it's like. Don't tell me that you weren't tempted to stay."

"Of course I was," I said. "There was a teaching job available in Asheville, in one of the public schoolhouses."

"Why didn't you accept it?"

"I nearly did; I had a terrible time deciding what to do. My parents wanted me to stay, and some part of me wanted to too – but I wanted to go home at the same time. So, I prayed. After that, I knew what I wanted to do, and that someone needed me back in Cutter Gap."

The Doctor's face suddenly flushed as red as his hair. I looked at him in concern; he muttered something about the room being too warm and took a gulping drink of water.

"So, I made the decision and came home," I finished. Dr. MacNeill was still watching me unblinkingly, looking agitated. I raised my hand to my face, suddenly self-conscious. "What? What is it?"

"I prayed that you would come back."

I nearly spat out a mouthful of juice, I was so shocked. No, no, he wasn't teasing – his gaze was perfectly unwavering. "You did?"

He nodded, and the unnatural color began to fade from his cheeks. "I had no idea...I didn't know..."

"Neither did I." I fiddled with my glass, peeping up at him shyly. "Did you really want me to come back?"

"Of course. The Cove hasn't ever had such a good teacher – the children would have been disappointed..." He cut himself off and sighed, smiling ruefully. "Oh, never mind that. Is it wrong to admit that I missed you?"

It's amazing what a few simple words can do. There was such a lightness filling me that I wanted to laugh for the pure joy of it. "Not at all, Doctor – I missed you too."

* * *

_A/N: I thought that Neil needed a chapter to himself, aye? Sorry it's so short and choppy, but I wrote it in a bit of a hurry.  
_

_I probably won't be able to post again for a week, depending on whether I can churn out Ch. 18 before Wednesday. I'll try, and if it isn't complete drivel, I'll post then. ; ) Thanks for your reviews. _

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	18. Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

NO ONE LOVED a juicy yarn more than Ruby Mae, and in the month since my return, she stopped off at the mission house nearly every other day to impart some item of news or tittle-tattle. Miss Alice had long ago tried to discourage this habit, but gossip and Ruby Mae had always gone hand-in-hand, and it seemed impossible to have one exist without the other.

I knew I shouldn't be bothered to listen to her, for it only made her more apt to spread what she knew, but I couldn't seem to help it; her news was always amusing, though I suspected that she dampened down some of the more lurid tales for my innocent ears.

When I caught sight of her running down the hill toward the mission one Saturday, her flaming hair flying out wildly behind her, I assumed that she had collected some new and shocking tale to share – however, as she came to a tumbling halt in front of me, where I sat shelling peas on the doorstep, I was soon to learn that this exciting story involved her own self.

"Lordy, Miz Christy," she burst out, flopping down to sit beside me. "Ye won't never guess what I learnt today!"

"I imagine I won't," I said calmly, well-accustomed to hearing this opening line.

"Waal, I'll tell ye, then! My Will went an' called fer Doc MacNeill, 'cause I ain't been feelin' good fer nigh on two days now –"

"Are you sick, Ruby Mae?" I asked anxiously.

"Aw, not really." She was still grinning, so I relaxed, knowing it must not be anything serious. "Waal, Doc come an' looked me over, an' he said that I'm gonna be a mama! Me an' Will are gonna have ourselves a baby!"

"A baby!"

"Yep." She smiled, with an eager light in her eyes. "Will's mighty pleased, an' I cain't hardly believe it. Me, a mama! I hope it's a little boy, fer Will, but Will has a hankerin' fer a gal-baby – one who looks jest like me, he says." She giggled.

I recovered from my astonishment. "Why, that's wonderful, Ruby Mae. How excited you must be! Have you told anyone yet?"

"Only Will's ma and pa, and you. Do ye think Miz Alice would like to hear?"

"I think she would love to," I said, giving her a quick hug. "We're all very happy for you and Will, Ruby Mae."

Beaming, she took off for Miss Alice's cabin to spread the joy; I watched her bounce down the trail like the exuberant girl she was. Sixteen. She was just sixteen, and she was a mother already! I shook my head in amazement. It seemed like the last few days had been nothing but a constant round of surprises – but, as I was soon to find out, the surprises were far from over.

* * *

"YOO-NITED STATES MAIL!"

Ben Pentland's familiar calling-card shout echoed down the field to the mission house. Miss Alice, putting aside her knitting, rose and went to open the door for him. In a minute, Mr. Pentland stomped inside, covered head-and-shoulders with a sheet of snow; Miss Ida winced as the majority of it landed on the spotless rug.

"Hello, Ben," David greeted cordially from his seat by the fireplace. "Come on in and melt all that ice off yourself."

"Don't mind if I do, Preacher." The postman ventured into the parlor, tipping his dirty felt hat politely at Miss Ida and I. "Cain't stay long – there's a mought of snow out thar and more's sure ter come, so I best not dawdle any. Got some parcels fer ye, Miz Christy."

"For me?"

"Aye – come Asheville way." He disappeared back into the hall and appeared a moment later, clutching two large crates, one under each arm. After setting them down on the carpet in front of me, eliciting another scowl from Ida, he reached into his leather vest and pulled out a thick, slightly sodden envelope. "A letter come with it."

I slit it open, not recognizing the elegant handwriting on its front.

_My dear Miss Huddleston, _

_I beg you would accept this small token of my esteem. I do hope I haven't overstepped myself, but my wife assures me that you won't find fault with our offering. You are an inspiring young lady, and I have no doubt that these trifles will be put to excellent use._

_Yrs. truly,_

_Randolph Hayvescroft_

"Those crates was awful heavy," Mr. Pentland drawled, stretching out his long legs in front of the fire. "Do ye want me ter open 'em fer ye, Miz Christy?"

I smiled, seeing the spark of curiosity alive in his eyes. "That would be very kind, thank you."

A few quick jerks with a poker pried the lid off, and I burrowed through the mound of wood shavings and paper to uncover the gifts inside.

"Books!" I cried, pulling out _A Tale of Two Cities_ from the crate. There were others underneath, at least fifteen or twenty, tightly packed together. I held up the novel – the binding was tight, the embossed leather cover clean and gleaming beautifully in the firelight. They were new, brand new!

The second box was opened to reveal a scene of similar bounty; Miss Alice helped me unpack and pile them in neat stacks. I counted thirty-one in all – thirty-one books! Giddily, I pointed out particular titles while the others looked on with amusement.

"Here's one for Ruby Mae," I said with a grin, holding up a copy of _Anne of Green Gables._

Miss Alice's eyes twinkled.

"And look!" I dove back into the crates, becoming more and more excited as I sorted through the treasure trove of books. "Rob Allen will love these. And there are even picture books for the little ones! How wonderfully kind of Mr. Hayvescroft."

"I hope that you didn't solicit them," David said abruptly, taking up a newspaper from the table.

My pleasure was immediately sucked away by his coldness. "For your information, I didn't say a word about our needs or ask him to donate anything."

"Of course you didn't," Miss Alice cut in. "We shall have to write to the gentleman and thank him for his kindness."

"It's better than those ludicrous hats, anyway," Miss Ida sniffed.

I sighed again at the reminder of my last attempt at garnering support and supplies for the mission. Well, I_ hadn't_ solicited these books; Mr. Hayvescroft had sent them without the slightest hint from me. I looked up at David, but he had disappeared behind the spread of newssheet, his hands white-knuckled where they gripped the paper.

"Christy?" Miss Alice tapped my arm. "Perhaps we can put these upstairs for the night. It is too cold to venture outside to the schoolhouse."

How uncanny – it was on the tip of my tongue to suggest that we go stock the books on the schoolhouse shelves. I glanced out the window. The snow was falling rapidly, and it would likely worsen before the evening was out. Miss Alice was right; the last thing we needed was to be stranded in the church overnight.

Mr. Pentland, having sufficiently thawed himself out, wandered over to join us and picked up one of the books, peering intently at the cover and then flipping it open to study the neat lines of print. "Reckon the young'uns will like this jest fine. Who's this Haycroft feller?"

"Mr. Hayvescroft is one of my father's friends," I said. "I had the opportunity to speak with him about teaching in the Cove during my holiday in Asheville."

Nodding, Mr. Pentland placed the book back atop its pile with the utmost care. "Ought ter be headin' out now afore the weather really flares up." He donned his hat, shrugged into his coat, and headed to the door, stopping in the hall. "Miz Christy?"

"Yes?"

"You reckon older folks might lend out these here books too?"

"You're welcome to borrow one whenever you wish."

Looking slightly abashed, he inclined his head to me and went out.

"I hope you aren't planning to make that offer to everyone," Miss Ida remarked, after Mr. Pentland was a safe distance down the road. "You'll never get them back if you do."

"I trust that our neighbors will be as honest and careful with the books as they are with everything else," Miss Alice replied, taking up her sewing again.

"Just wait," I added. "We'll have Cutter Gap's first library up and running in no time. It will turn out."

Miss Ida shot a glance over at David but didn't venture to argue; she settled back in her chair, her lips pursed as she focused her attention on the buttons she was stitching on one of her brother's shirts.

"It _will_ work," I said, directing the comment to David, who was watching me darkly. "You'll see."

With a sudden motion, David flung himself from his chair, slapped the paper onto the table, and stalked out of the room.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING was a dreary, overcast day, the snow falling more plentifully but dripping with icy rainwater, making for a miserable drizzle of slush that plopped dully on the rooftop in a continuous rhythm. The noise wore on everyone's nerves – even Miss Alice didn't seem as composed as she generally was.

Both of the Grantlands had been almost entirely mute, venturing to talk only when asked a direct question. I wondered whether they had received some bad news from Boston, but I was much too cowed by their stony silence to ask. It wasn't like David to be so sullen; I was worried for him, and a little frightened by his black looks. It was as if a stranger inhabited his body – this bitter, angry man couldn't be David, not my dear, sweet David.

I was ashamed of myself. A good part of the whole mess was my fault, for being so wishy-washy; maybe things might have worked out if I had been honest from the beginning. I was at a loss, wishing desperately for someone to get us out of the fix that I had created.

My resources were used up: I had gone to Miss Alice more than once in the past few weeks, anxious for her advice. Although she was always properly sympathetic and reassuring, she took care not to interfere in even the smallest way. She would not offer any straight advice beyond urging me to take my concerns to the Lord. I tried to, but the thoughts dashing through my head interrupted my prayers.

There was no one else to talk to – there was no Fairlight to confide in. Miss Ida was certainly out of the question as a confidante; I was too embarrassed to approach Opal or one of the other mountain women, and all of my other friends lived across the border, too far away to be of any immediate assistance. I could hardly ask Mother for her opinion; she would be horrified at the thought that I was involved with any man in Cutter Gap.

Aware that the situation was volatile, I had carefully avoided Dr. MacNeill since the afternoon he had camped out on the sofa – when I saw him at church, I tried to be polite without lingering too long at his side, knowing that David was watching. I hoped fervently that the Doctor wasn't confused or even hurt by my distance, but I was so afraid of a confrontation; it was the only thing that I could think to do.

I wanted to talk to him – when we passed each other, I had the strangest longing to take him aside and tell him everything. I wanted his advice. I wanted him to listen quietly, patiently, as he always did, with that blend of gentle encouragement, amusement, and thoughtfulness that had become so familiar to me. I wanted someone to help carry the burden, to help me puzzle out David's behavior. No problem seemed to be too great for Dr. MacNeill to bear on those broad shoulders of his; of late, especially, there was a new confidence in him – a confidence borne not of his accomplishments but his faith. I envied his self-possession.

But I could never approach him. My troubles shouldn't extend to him; I had no business dragging the Doctor into a quarrel between David and I.

So each day I had waited, tiptoeing around the house, waiting for the inevitable explosion. It did come, but in a much different form than I had expected – it was the last of a string of surprises that had made up a very discomfiting week.

Dinner that evening was a solemn affair. Miss Ida served roast chicken, beans, and cornbread, a wonderful fare, but none of us really tasted it. David was forking food into his mouth without conscious thought, his gaze fixed on the window, while Miss Alice sat quietly at the foot of the table, a disquieted light in her eyes. I prodded the beans across my plate absently, thinking of my lesson plans for the next day. I would need more paper – it was being used up so rapidly that two of the thick packets I had bought in Asheville were already gone. Perhaps Father would send more if I asked...

The scrape of David's chair against the floorboards woke me from my haze of abstraction; my gaze shot up to find him standing before the table, his hands clasped behind his back. "Alice, Christy, there's something I'd like to say."

Miss Alice straightened, placing her spoon calmly by her plate before meeting his intent eyes. "By all means, David. What have you to tell us?"

He cleared his throat, glancing over at his sister, who instantly rose and went into the kitchen. Her departure seemed to rattle him a little, but he shook his head slightly and faced Miss Alice again. "I have written all the proper letters," he said softly, "but I thought I ought to let you know that I've handed in my resignation."

"Resignation?" I echoed dumbly. Automatically I turned to Miss Alice for help, for an explanation, but she looked stunned.

"I wrote to Dr. Ferrand over a month ago," he continued, "to request permission to accept a position in a church back in Boston. I received his confirmation last Tuesday."

Miss Ida came back into the dining parlor, carrying a fresh loaf of bread; she recoiled when we all twisted around to stare at her, begging without words for some sort of explanation. She sat back down, deliberately avoiding our eyes, and began to cut the bread with a vigor that nearly crushed it.

"I must say I am quite astonished at this sudden step, David," Miss Alice said at last. "Why did you decide to take it?" The question hung in the air, stifling all of us in the little room.

Something indefinable flashed across David's expressive face, but he turned and paced over to the window. "I thought that I could make an impression here, but every improvement I tried to make set us back instead. I'm not doing any good, so I see no reason to stay. Someone else can try their hand at it – I'm done with this place."

I wanted to protest. Did he have no notion of all the things he had done for the people of the Cove? How could he be so blind to the miracles that God had worked through him?

"Ida?" Miss Alice intoned gently. "Are you leaving us too?"

Miss Ida lowered her head and continued to slice the loaf, but her fingers trembled on the polished handle of the knife.

"She is," David answered, when his sister did not speak. "Mother needs her at home, and I can be useful there too – Cutter Gap doesn't need either of us."

"David, surely..."

"No, Alice," he interrupted, his mouth a thin, grim slash across his handsome face. "Everything is already settled. Ida and I have seats booked on the train for tomorrow afternoon, and we should be back in Boston by the week's end. Dr. Ferrand has promised to find a replacement for me – some student fresh out of seminary. Perhaps he'll have better luck than I did."

"I respect thy feelings," Miss Alice replied, slipping back unconsciously into her Quaker speech, with a note of distress in her voice that I had never heard before, "but please rethink thy motivations, David. I cannot believe that thou hast been considering the matter clearly. Hast thou taken thy worries to the Lord?"

David snorted. "Alice, please don't preach to me. I've made up my mind. I'm sorry if it upsets you, but I think you'll recover from any disappointment quickly." His eyes turned to me, dark and inscrutable. "I know you will, Christy."

His words stung. The guilt came upon me hard, choking off whatever retort I might have made. _My fault, my fault._ Suddenly his gaze was overpowering, accusatory – too much, too much, my fault...I rose and choked out a quick, "Excuse me," before fleeing for the safety of my room.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry for the long wait, and for yet another sad, melodramatic post. I promise that things will cheer up a little more soon. All the poor characters have been drowning in angst throughout these last few chapters. _

_Nevertheless, it's about time that the David situation came to a head, eh? Despite all evidence to the contrary, I actually _do_ like David -- just not as a potential husband for Christy. ; ) He has some wonderful qualities and the potential to become a great man, given a little more time and experience. _

_In the book, we see him as a charming, good-natured, but immature young man, like Christy herself in many ways. The difference between them, however, is that Christy is willing to learn from her mistakes, whereas David continues to make the same ones over and over again. Spiritually they differ too: Christy, after overcoming some stubbornness of her own, lets God change who she is as a person -- David has extreme difficulty in turning any part of his life over to God. He wants to be upright, but he refuses to alter himself in any way. _

_I had always gotten the impression that David had been dictated to all his life: his mother and his sister are domineering women, and he was pushed into attending seminary because they wanted him to become a minister. All his choices have been made for him, and part of his coming to Cutter Gap is to escape and make decisions of his own. I think that his proposal to Christy is almost an extension of the desire he has to rebel; it isn't so much because he loves Christy than because she is his own choice, not his mother's, not his sister's. Christy, despite coming from a fairly well-to-do family, probably wouldn't be the sort of girl Mrs. Grantland would want her son marrying.  
_

_Once David has had a taste of this freedom, he doesn't want to give over any of that control to anyone -- not even to God. Catherine seems to hint at the end that David is starting to come to terms with this problem. He has struggled with it throughout the course of the novel, and there's hope for him, I think. He has a good heart, even though I'm making him act like a jerk now. ; )_

_Sorry for going off on another ranting character analysis -- it's a bad habit. Anyone have another theory on David? Is he a hopeless case, or is he just misunderstood? ; )_

_Thanks for your reviews!_

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	19. Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

DAVID AND MISS Ida left the next day at dawn. Miss Alice and I stood on the porch, watching as David loaded Jeb's wagon with their trunks. I was numb, hardly able to understand how and why we had come to this. Leaving. David was _leaving_.

Everything was settled; a call had been issued for a new preacher to take David's vacated position, and Miss Alice had been unwilling to attempt to persuade the Grantlands to stay, despite my pleas.

"They must be allowed to make their own choices," she had said. "Do not interfere with something that is between David and God, Christy. He has never felt himself at peace here. Perhaps he was not meant to."

I had bitten back my protests, but there had been no sleep for me that night. I prayed for the burden to be taken away, and some of it had, but I still felt faintly ill. This was not how I had imagined the outcome. David and I had been in love once – and look how it had ended. We were strangers. Still, he was calmer this morning, resolute and unagitated, though he could not look me directly in the eye.

Neither of us had said a word about their departure during breakfast, the last meal that Miss Ida would ever cook for us. She outdid herself, apparently determined to go out in style, but the food had been like ash in my mouth, bitter and difficult to swallow.

Miss Alice had emerged from her silence only long enough to ask David once more to wait until he could bid his parishioners goodbye personally, but he refused. He was fixed on leaving without a proper send-off; we were the ones charged with the duty of explaining to the people of the Cove that their preacher was gone.

The door swung open and Miss Ida came out, carrying a valise and a brown fur muff. She paused on the porch, and David came around from the wagon, seeing that she was prepared to go.

"Well, I guess this is it," he said, leaping up the stairs to join us. "Ready, Ida?"

She nodded curtly, and he took the valise from her, tucking it under one arm. She hugged Miss Alice and looked at me for a moment before patting my shoulder awkwardly and stepping aside.

David's face was intent with his new purpose. "I think we've got everything, Alice."

"If you are certain...but Prince...surely you will take him along with you."

"Keep him," David said warmly. "Consider it a parting gift. I'll telephone when we get to Boston so you'll know that we arrived safely. Goodbye, Alice."

"Fare thee well, David." Miss Alice kissed his cheek with motherly affection, her eyes glistening suspiciously. "God bless and keep you. Don't forget Cutter Gap, or those you have left behind."

Some discomfort showed on his face at this tender plea, but he smiled and stepped back, letting his sister come forward to say her own goodbyes. His gaze turned to where I stood, shrinking back into the wall, quiet and thoroughly miserable.

"Goodbye, Christy." He held out his hand. I reached for it, and his warm fingers, roughened by months of hard labor, briefly squeezed mine before he pulled them away.

There was so much I wanted to say, but I couldn't think how to begin. He had been avoiding me yesterday after his announcement, careful that we weren't alone in the same room for more than a minute.

I had to speak, to tell him how sorry I was, how much I would miss him, but the words lodged in my throat, and then he was gone, striding over to the wagon. Miss Ida followed, smoothing her skirts as her brother hiked her up onto the bench. He hoisted himself up next to her and lifted his hat, waving to us as he cracked the reins, sending the horses off.

I watched the wagon bite through the heavy snow drifts, trundling slowly down the road to El Pano, and a silent grief stole through my heart. Miss Alice's arms came about me, and I leaned back into her warm embrace as the tears finally came.

* * *

LIFE CONTINUED ON as it always had. The first Sunday after the Grantlands' departure was noticeably uncomfortable, as it fell to Miss Alice to inform everyone of David's choice to take a church in Boston. Everyone already knew that he and his sister had left the Cove, but all of them were impatient for an explanation – something which Miss Alice was hard pressed to provide.

Speculation had been rampant, and Miss Alice attempted to put a stop to it by simply detailing the facts: David had decided to return to Boston, and Dr. Ferrand would soon recruit another man to take his place in the Cove. The people had accepted what she could tell them with stolid composure, though I discovered that they had all interpreted David's desertion in very different ways.

"Did we'uns make Preacher mad?" Little Burl asked me one day at school, quite out of the blue. "Is that why he left us, Teacher?"

I bent to look into his wide blue eyes. "Of course not, Burl. Nothing you or anyone else did made Reverend Grantland leave. He loves you all very much, but he feels that he needs to be serving the people in Boston."

He stared back at me, incomprehension painted on his freckled cherub face. "Did God tell him to leave?"

"I...he..." I bit my lip. "I don't know. Only Reverend Grantland knows for certain."

"Did we make God mad? I suppose we did, iffen He saw fit ter take away Preacher."

"God isn't angry at any of us, Burl." I felt the sudden weary desire to sit down, lay my head on my desk, and block out the rest of the world. "Besides, there will be another preacher here to minister to us; if God was really angry, would He have Miss Alice stay with us? Miss Alice and I aren't going anywhere, and we will be able to make a new friend when Reverend Grantland's replacement comes. You would like to make a new friend, wouldn't you?"

Burl nodded, but his little brow was still furrowed.

Sam Houston, still hindered by his poulticed and plastered arm, piped up, "Reckon he'll have a good wind in the pulpit too? A preacher don't seem ter be a preacher iffen he doesn't."

I suppressed a sigh. "I suppose he will. We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

The conversation ended there, for we had lessons to attend to, but Little Burl's innocent questions had stirred up more troubling feelings inside me. Had I deprived them of their mentor? The children loved David – no other preacher could possibly measure up to the standards of their 'Rev'rend.' And I suspected, though none of them said a word about it, that David's sudden departure had hurt them. I was suddenly angry at him. How could he leave without saying goodbye? He'd practically fled to Boston and left us to pick up the pieces.

That afternoon, as soon as school was dismissed, I set off for the McHone cabin. I wanted someone to talk to, and Opal was always such a good listener. She would be able to set me straight.

When I reached the cabin, I discovered my friend by herself – the boys were off with their grandfather on a hunt. She invited me in eagerly, and we sat by the fire to talk while she finished stitching up some of Vincent's stockings.

I had come with every intention of asking Opal for her advice, but I found out that the woman had far more pressing concerns.

"Reckon you ain't gonna believe who's been round these parts." Opal dug through her sewing box to find another length of brown thread.

"Who?"

She bent her head over her sewing, and a slight rush of color came to her cheeks. "Bird's-Eye."

"Bird's-Eye! Opal, he hasn't been causing trouble...?"

"Oh, no – nothin' like that. Since winter's here, well, things has been rough. Tom's gone, and Isaak's too young ter be huntin' much, so our pickins have been pretty slim; Bird's-Eye must of heered about it, 'cause he's been bringin' rabbits an' possums almost every day fer us. Why, he even brung a deer last week!"

I shook my head. "Amazing."

"A miracle, I think. We ain't gone hungry, thanks ter him. I didn't know what ter think at first, 'cause of Tom...but Bird's-Eye said he was troubling something fierce about Tom, and he wanted ter make sure we was taken care of. It were a real kind thing to do, weren't it, Miz Christy?"

"Very kind. And is he...do you think he wants your company too?"

A definite blush now took hold of her sallow complexion. "I didn't think so before, but I'm thinkin' that he still has a likin' fer me. I ain't seen him so gentle since we was courtin'. There's somethin' diff'rent about him – but sometimes, when I look in his eyes, I don't think he's changed at all. He's a puzzle."

"Bird's-Eye..." I shook my head wonderingly. "Really, Opal?"

She nodded shyly. "He's been comin' round regular now. You know, he's been real good ter my boys too. Toot and Vincent like him jest fine. Course, they's too young ter know much about the business with their pa and the 'shine..." Her expression clouded over for just a moment. "I don't know what Isaak thinks of it all. He don't say much one way 'er the other."

"Of course. It must be very hard for him...but Opal, he does know that Lundy...well, that Lundy was the one to...harm Tom?"

"Shorely does. That's the whole thing, Miz Christy. My Isaak, he don't blame Bird's-Eye none fer Tom's death, but he shore do blame Lundy fer it. That poor child's dead and gone. I tried ter tell Isaak that, but hate's gone and filled up my boy with all sorts of anger an' mischief. It pains my heart ter see it." Her brow furrowed. "Thought Preacher'd help, but now that he's left..."

The mention of David threw me off guard, and Opal saw it.

"Pardon me, Miz Christy, but I gotta ask jest this once: you ain't frettin' yerself about Preacher none, are ye?"

"Not really. Well, I'm trying not to, anyway. I think I've made peace with it."

She nodded, and satisfied that I wasn't pining away, she tactfully moved the conversation on. "Since Bird's-Eye's been around my place, I thought mebbe I could do like Miss Alice does an' share a bit of what I've learned. Do ye think it's a good idea? I don't want to push nothin' on him, but mebbe I can help him somehow. I told him that I prayed fer him, and he could hardly believe it – I think he liked it, though. Everyone needs ter know that someone cares fer em, don't ye think?"

"Absolutely. Don't be afraid to tell him what you believe, Opal; he might not change overnight, but at least it gives him something to ponder over."

She looked down at her sewing thoughtfully. "I know how good it made me feel ter know that you was prayin' fer me when Tom was on the run. It's a real fine feelin', and mebbe if Bird's-Eye can feel it too..." She shook her head slightly and smiled at me, getting up from her chair to fetch us something to drink. "Would ye mind keepin' this ter yerself, Miz Christy? Bird's-Eye has been careful to stay outta sight, since he knows that Uncle Bogg still ain't forgotten what happened ter Tom; I don't want no feud to a-start 'cause of me."

"Of course – I won't say a word to anyone." I smiled warmly at my friend, accepting a glass of persimmon juice. "I'm very happy for you, Opal; if anyone can help reform Bird's-Eye, I believe you can." I took a sip – the juice was sweet and warm, heated slowly over the fire like a hot grog.

"Bless ya, Miz Christy. I reckon some folks ain't gonna be so happy 'bout it iffen they find out." She peered at me narrowly from over the rim of her cup. "So...how 'bout you an' Doc MacNeill?"

I choked. "Pardon?"

"Word's all over that you an' Doc is courtin' now." Her expression was uncharacteristically sly.

"Where did you hear that?" I demanded, once I'd caught my breath.

"From lots of folks. You an' Doc has been takin' plenty of walks together after church-meetings. No doubt about that – we all seen it. You've been awful friendly-like lately."

"Yes, well..." I struggled for an explanation. "He has been giving me plenty of advice about the children, about my teaching, that sort of thing. He's nice to talk to. Really, it's nothing more than that."

She nodded, but I could see that little smile pulling at the corners of her mouth; I tried very hard to be indignant, but I couldn't quite manage it, and soon we were both laughing, giggling like a pair of schoolgirls.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," I said at last, when we had regained some control over ourselves. "Gossip travels faster than light here."

"Oh, but it ain't old gossip."

"What?"

"We've been watchin' you an' Preacher an' Doc fer _months_."

I was shocked. "You're joking."

"Nope. Why, it was plain as day ter anybody with eyes."

The thought that my love life had been open for examination to every person in Cutter Gap made me feel very self-conscious. Why hadn't I suspected it? Everyone knew everything about everyone. David and I wouldn't be exempt from the rule simply because we were flatlanders – in fact, we had probably been especially scrutinized because of it.

"Don't worry yourself about it, Miz Christy," Opal said kindly. "Same thing happened ter me when I was choosin' between Tom and Bird's-Eye. Why, some fellers even set up a bettin' pool on who I was gonna wed." She gazed at me compassionately. "Preacher's a fine man, but he's a city-feller. Don't feel bad. It wasn't yer fault."

"How...?"

"I can see it," she said, matter-of-factly. "I ain't the smartest gal, but anyone with a lick of sense can read those eyes of yers. You've been a-frettin', and it ain't gonna do you any good ter keep on worryin'. Preacher can take care of hisself."

I can't explain it, but her words made me feel better. It made perfect sense, really. My refusal might have been the impetus for David's departure, but he had been considering leaving long before I knew him. He had never felt completely happy in Cutter Gap – he had always felt like an outsider.

I looked down at my reflection on the glass in my hand; I spent plenty of time worrying about my _own_ life as it was. I had been drowning myself in self-pity long enough. "Thank you, Opal."

She smiled. "Don't mention it."

* * *

_A/N: Sorry if things seem a little rushed; the plot must move on! ; )  
_

_Thanks for your reviews!_

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	20. Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

_MY DEAREST DADDY,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health, and that Mother and George are also well. I am sorry for taking so long to reply to your last note; these last weeks have been very busy. I hope court has been progressing as you thought, and that the verdict for poor Mr. Pederson has turned out for his advantage._

_I have been kept on my toes by the schoolchildren, who have been occupying every spare minute. It's amazing to me that I never regret having my time so filled – there is never a dull moment here in the Cove._

_Reverend Grantland has been gone for almost three weeks now, and so far, no one has come to replace him. Dr. Ferrand informed Miss Alice that there is a great deal of red-tape to go through before Mr. Grantland's transfer can be put in the records and a new seminary student can be sent here. So far, Miss Alice has had no choice but to conduct the Sunday services herself. She does the job admirably, but I know it quite goes against Quaker teachings, and she will be glad when a proper minister arrives._

_I have been teaching about the Constitution for our history lesson; as you can imagine, the 18th stirred up quite a bit of controversy! Actually, our moonshine problems seemed to have disappeared after the epidemic – Miss Alice says it will not be long before the stills are up and running again, but we are enjoying the respite for now._

_Mrs. McHone wishes me to pass along her gratitude to Mother for the cloth she sent; she was able to make a lovely dress for Liz Ann Robertson's baby girl; she is to stand as little Carrie's godmother at the christening and wanted so badly to have a gift for the occasion. Mrs. McHone has given me a jar of her best apple butter for Mother as a thank-you – I'll send it along with this letter._

_Give my love to everyone at home, and I will write again soon._

_Your loving daughter, _

_Christy_

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THE MISSION HOUSE had become a lonesome place. Miss Alice, knowing that I was uncomfortable staying in the big house alone at night, had moved into Miss Ida's old room, but still it seemed oddly empty, bereft of David's booming voice and the scurry and bustle of his sister in the kitchen.

The weather had taken a nasty turn; the first of March brought in a storm that buried us all under nearly four feet of snow, and for several days we were trapped in our homes, increasing the sense of isolation. By the end of that gloomy week, I was desperate for exercise and companionship, and Dr. MacNeill provided the perfect remedy.

Immediately after the Grantlands' departure, the Doctor had stayed away, whether to stave away the swelling gossip, or out of simple respect for the unsettled state of my feelings. We met at first only on Sundays for our customary walk, but as time passed, he began to come around the mission more and more often, joining us for a meal several days out of the week and occasionally sprawling out on the sofa when he came back from a call too late to ride the full distance back home.

With this routine firmly settled, I wasn't taken aback in the least when the front door swung open, sending snow spraying everywhere as a familiar shape, bulky in a heavy coat, cap, and scarf, lumbered into the hall, wiping its boots absently on the doormat before venturing into the kitchen where I sat peeling potatoes.

"Good morning, Miss Huddleston."

"Doctor." Concentrating on the task at hand, I didn't look up. "You can hang your coat to dry over the fire, and there's coffee on the stove." My words ended on a gasp as the paring knife was plucked from my fingers. "Dr. MacNeill...!"

"Christy," he said, setting the knife over by the bowl of denuded potatoes, just out of my reach, "can't this wait for a few hours? Come with me."

I eyed him suspiciously – his cheeks were flushed from the cold, but there was a strange brightness in his face that surely couldn't be the fault of the weather. "Why?"

"Why? Is there ever a reason for a walk? Come with me, Christy – there's something I would like to show you."

My curiosity was aroused, and he knew it, turning my weakness to his advantage. "It may not last for much longer, and if you're willing to brave the snow, I think you'll find it worth your while."

It took little more to convince me, and I abandoned the potatoes without a pang of regret, hurrying upstairs to tell Miss Alice and change into suitable clothes.

"Dress warmly," Dr. MacNeill called after me, sounding more like himself. "I won't have you catching cold."

Picking through my closet, I threw on a thick sweater and my warmest coat, along with a pair of George's old boots and the goose-down gloves Mother had sent to me. Thumping across the hall, I knocked on the door and looked in.

Miss Alice was at her prayers this morning, and I made my speech as short as possible. "Dr. MacNeill and I are going for a walk – I promise I'll finish dinner later."

She glanced at me from over her spectacles and smiled. "Go on, but be careful, dear."

I thanked her and waddled down the stairs – it was difficult to move with so many layers on. The Doctor was at the door, waiting patiently.

"Ready," I said. "Will you tell me our destination, sir?"

To my surprise, he shook his head. "You'll have to wait and see."

Before I could protest, he added, "Do you have a scarf?"

It took me a minute to remember. "Not at the moment. Ruby Mae borrowed it."

He unwound his grey scarf and looped it around my neck, tying off the ends with surgical precision. "There. Shall we go?"

I nodded, and we ventured into the swirling powdered snow. There was a chill to the wind, but I could hardly feel it – I touched the baby-soft wool and smiled to myself. Was there any other man half so considerate?

We walked side-by-side for a spell, wandering past the Spencers' cabin, but soon he turned off on an unfamiliar trail, a thin ribbon between the trees that meandered to the south. With all the snow, I wondered how the Doctor was able to keep his bearings, but it was apparent from his confident stride that this was a path he had taken many times before.

The stinging wind picked up as we crossed a frozen stream, and I turned my head to the side, eyes watering.

He paused at the top of a hill. "Hold on to my coat," he shouted, over the insistent hiss of the wind, "and keep your face down."

I did as he said, grasping handfuls of his leather jacket and following him slowly down the ridge. We went quite a distance; I lost track of time, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. The fearsome wind finally died down as the land leveled out, and a dark formation began to take shape in the endless stretch of snow. As we neared, I saw that it was the opening of a hollow, a small cavern of some sort.

"Here," the Doctor said, taking my hand and leading me down into the hollow. I followed gladly, for it seemed warmer in the shelter of the rock. It was a shallow cave, barely a few yards in length, but as my eyes adjusted to the dark, he gestured for me to come back even further.

He drew me to the side and pointed. "Look."

I looked, and the aches and misgivings all melted away. Set back in the hollow was a miniature waterfall, a trickle of river-runoff which had frozen solid. A shaft of speckled light cut into it, highlighting the glittering spectacle. It was frozen in time, as though a chill had swept through and trapped it mid-motion – it was like looking at a photograph.

Dr. MacNeill was watching me. "Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful!" I said, finding my voice. "I've never seen anything like it. How did you find it?"

"I come here sometimes, for a moment of solitude, or just to think. It must have formed a day or so ago, since I was here earlier in the week and it wasn't like this then."

I couldn't say how long we stood there, admiring the view; something about the sight had caught my fancy, and I wished with sudden passion that I was an artist, so that I might capture the scene on paper.

"Is there a way to get closer?" I asked.

"There's an outcropping there." He gestured to the left. "Be careful, though; stay close to the wall. The ground is uneven. It may look level, but there are snowdrifts, and you might fall through."

I was already half-way across the cave, eager for a closer look. Inching across, my hands pressed to the cold, damp stone, I had almost made it to the plateau when I misjudged a step and stumbled out from the wall. My world abruptly inverted and turned white as I fell head-first into a snowdrift.

Faintly, I could hear Dr. MacNeill calling my name – I spit out a mouthful of snow and kicked my feet helplessly. A moment later, big hands grasped my waist and lifted me off the ground, setting me back on my feet. Brushing flakes out of my eyes, I caught sight of his worried face and laughed until my side ached.

The Doctor, however, was not amused. "Are you hurt? Did you hit yourself on the rock?"

"No," I sputtered, trying to stifle the giggles that seemed to force themselves out of me. "I'm fine, really – just feeling a bit stupid."

He insisted on our leaving at once; and though I was disappointed, I guessed correctly that he wouldn't take kindly to an argument. My coat was soaked through, and snow had wormed its way into my boots, and I realized how cold I was the instant we stepped back out of the hollow and into the open air.

"We'll cut through the hill back to the mission," he said. "Can you make it?"

"Of course."

My cocksure overconfidence came back to mock me – as we started up the hill, I began to shiver. It was slight at first, but as the air began to whip against my saturated coat, the shivers seemed to move into my very bones and settle there, chilling me from the inside out.

The wind stung everywhere, and it hurt to walk, to even move. My face felt raw, and my hands and feet were completely numb. I had never felt so cold in my life – it was past the point of cold.

I lifted my head, looking up at the Doctor, who was moving with long, vigorous steps that were beginning to become too difficult to keep pace with. The distance between us began to lengthen, and I wanted to call out to him, but the instant I opened my mouth, icy air burst inside, sending me into a coughing fit. I stopped and stood there for a moment in the knee-deep snow trying to catch my breath, the wind slapping at me from all sides, frustrated tears coming to my eyes.

And then my feet were no longer on the ground – I felt myself being swung into the air by a pair of capable arms. Dr. MacNeill had picked me up, wet coat and all, and turned around, heading back down the path we had come from.

"I'm sorry, Christy," he murmured, his breath feathering against my ear. "It's too far, and the wind is picking up. We'll go to my cabin – it's just over the next hill – and you'll be toasty warm in front of the fire in no time at all."

I buried my face against his neck and curled more tightly against the wonderful heat he exuded. He held me so firmly that I was hardly jostled at all, though he faltered once or twice in the deepening drifts. I began to feel sleepy, and even the sight of his cabin looming up in the distance wasn't enough to rouse me. It was comfortable, here in his arms, and I didn't want to move.

"Christy?" I could hear the concern in his voice. "Are you still with me?"

I mumbled something and burrowed closer; I heard him utter a soft curse, but I was too tired to scold him for it. His boots pounded on the cabin's wooden steps, and a moment later I was enveloped in a rush of warm air.

I was plopped firmly down on a quilt in front of the fireplace, which the Doctor quickly stoked before hanging a kettle of water over it to heat. I knew I ought to be doing something, but I couldn't seem to concentrate enough. I must have dozed off, for I was startled awake a few moments later as the Doctor took off my coat, gloves, and boots; he quickly toweled my hair and pressed a flannel shirt into my hands. "Take your sweater off, Christy – dry yourself and put this on. I'll be back in a minute."

The heat from the fire seemed to stir me enough to struggle out of my sodden blouse and tug on the shirt. It was far too big – the sleeves drooped at least five inches past my own hands – but it was dry; I began to shiver again and moved closer to the fire.

Dr. MacNeill came back into the room with two more blankets and began to pile them over me. My clothes were hung by the fire to dry, and as soon as the water had warmed, he poured some to make tea and used the remainder to bathe my hands and feet.

The feeling came back into my limbs and face fairly soon, prickling painfully, and the hot tea helped thaw out my insides. Assured that I was warming up, the Doctor had seen to his own comfort, changing into dry clothes and joining me at the fireside.

"What it is?" I asked, seeing his grave expression.

"The snow is falling harder – you may have to stay here for a few hours. I am sorry, Christy; I shouldn't have brought you out in this weather."

"It isn't your fault. After all, you didn't push me into that snowbank, Doctor – did you?"

He chuckled. "No."

"We'll be fine; I'm sure the weather will clear up soon."

"I suppose so. Until then, I guess you're marooned here."

I smiled against the rim of my cup. There were certainly less pleasant places to be stranded in.

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_A/N: Hi! I'm sorry this post is so late; I split it into the two parts -- Ch. 21 will continue where this left off._

_Thanks for your comments and patience! ; )_

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	21. Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I HAD BEEN in Dr. MacNeill's cabin before – several times, in fact – but it had long held a fascination for me. In many ways it resembled its owner: sturdily-built and weathered, yet proud and harboring plenty of surprises.

The Doctor's painstaking arrangement of his laboratory was perfectly in keeping with the rest of the house; there were no dirty dishes in the pan or any unswept floors. Considering it was the residence of a bachelor, everything was amazingly clean and in order.

I moved closer to the fire, pushing up the sleeves of the flannel shirt. My hair had begun to dry in tangled strands, and the heat was making me drowsy. Dr. MacNeill appeared to be in a similar state – I could see his eyelids drooping, and he had let our conversation dwindle and fade away. I had no objections to it. What I most wanted was sleep, and I dreaded the thought of venturing back out into the snow to the mission.

I needn't have worried; the journey, much to my relief, turned out to be impossible anyway. After an hour or so spent in warming up and sitting in quiet comfort, Dr. MacNeill rose to fix some sort of dinner for us.

Being a far more capable cook than I, he had a piping hot meal set on the table without any fuss. We ate quickly, without saying much: the shrieking of the wind outside was enough to occupy our thoughts. As soon as he was done, the Doctor ventured out onto the porch, coming back inside barely a second or two later.

"It's even worse out there than it was this afternoon," he said, brushing snow off his shoulders, "and it doesn't show any sign of stopping."

I froze, not quite sure where to look, when he added, "You'll have to stay the night."

Walks down by the pond in full view of the mission house were one thing; spending the night alone with an unmarried man was quite another. Reputations were as important here as in Asheville – perhaps even more so, for the codes of conduct for men and women, although surprisingly lax in some matters, were in general very stern.

"Are...are you sure there isn't any way to get back? Some sheltered path or something?"

He looked at me solemnly, his expression once more wary and closed. "We'd be lost and frozen before the hour was out. There really isn't any other choice."

"I wish there was some way to get word to Miss Alice." I turned to the frosted window, peering out into the blinding swirl of white. "She'll worry about me."

"I'm afraid it can't be helped." He stayed where he was, watching me. "I'm sorry, Christy. I didn't think this out as well I should have."

"Like you said, there wasn't any choice. You had no idea the weather would turn on us. Really, it's not so bad." I forced a note of cheerfulness into my voice. "After all, a bit of gossip always makes things interesting, right?"

He wasn't fooled. "I promise I'll get you home tomorrow as quickly and quietly as I can. With any luck, no one but Alice will ever know about this. You don't need to worry about what people will say about you."

I lowered my head, a little ashamed. "It's not that I'm afraid of them...uh...talking about me...about _us_..but you...uh..."

He smiled. "I don't think my reputation is in danger – unless, of course, you have designs on my virtue, Miss Huddleston."

I drew back, unsure of whether to laugh or blush, and as an uneasy silence stretched between us, I could see him mentally slapping himself for a comment that had come off a bit too strong. At last, he cleared his throat, tugging absentmindedly on the curls at his nape. "It's late – I'll show you upstairs to your room."

I followed him dutifully up the creaking steps into his bedroom. I had been up here once before, after I had fallen into the creek, and everything looked familiar. The big four-poster bed and the cherrywood bureau were unchanged, though I thought the spindle-backed chair might have been moved from its original position by the window.

The awkwardness came back in a rush as we stood in the dark room together – the Doctor lit the large oil-lamp on the bureau, but the gentle illumination seemed only to heighten the sense of intimacy. Sitting down on the bed, I felt strange stirrings of guilt, as though I were doing something wrong, though I knew very well that neither of us had done anything at all untoward.

Dr. MacNeill didn't linger. After changing the bed-sheets and handing me another over-sized shirt to use as a nightgown, he told me where to wash up and attend to personal business, wished me pleasant dreams, and left.

I followed him out into the hall. "Where are you going to sleep?"

He paused on the stairwell. "In the lab. There's a cot in there that I keep for patients who have to stay overnight. Knock on the door if you need something. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," I echoed, waiting until the glow of the candle he held disappeared before shutting the door. Changing into the shirt, which dropped down past my knees, I readied myself for bed and sat by the window to comb my hair with the hairbrush the Doctor had thoughtfully laid out for me. The short curls tangled too easily, and it took me the better part of a quarter-hour to straighten them.

I set the brush back on the bureau and noticed a small round mirror was placed atop it. I picked it up; the back was plated in polished silver, etched in the fanciful design of a thorny-stemmed rose. On closer inspection, I realized that the brush was similarly decorated, part of a woman's vanity set.

It must have belonged to Margaret. Why had he kept the mirror and brush in plain sight when all other mementos of his wife had been locked away in the trunk in his laboratory? I traced the curling petals of the rose and wondered whether he thought of her very often.

Putting the mirror carefully back in its place, I wandered around the room, unable to contain my curiosity. This was Dr. MacNeill's private domain, and I found the opportunity to explore it too much to resist.

Everything was equally neat up here; the chest at the foot of the bed was stacked with medical journals and folders, each one lined up perfectly with the others. It was amazing to me that he could dress so carelessly, be so very indifferent to his physical appearance, and yet keep his every possession in seamless order.

The bookshelf contained the expected medical tomes, with a few surprises – a bulky volume of Shakespeare caught my eye, and I bent down to examine the others, discovering several collections of poetry by Robert Burns and, even more surprising, _The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano_, a book which my father had often mentioned but which I had never read myself.

I wasn't impertinent enough to poke around to any further degree, and so I folded down the covers and crawled into bed. The sheets were cold, but they warmed after a few minutes. I blew out the lamp as there was plenty of light from the moon, which had surfaced as the snowfall lessened.

It was natural, given my surroundings, that my thoughts should continue much in the same vein as before. As life had returned to its normal course, I had found my attention turning frequently to more personal matters – and more frequently to the Doctor himself.

His behavior was still entirely bewildering. The months since my return to the Cove hadn't given me much more insight into his intentions. He was always willing to talk, seemingly pleased to spend an afternoon in my company...but that was it. He never pushed, never hinted, never expressed the slightest wish for anything but a platonic friendship. I was closer to him than I had been before, but he would let me come no closer.

There had been a barrier there since our first meeting – he was warm and sociable, and over time I had learned to respond to the explanation and logic he demanded from me – but the subtle distance was there between us. Was it our ages? He had to be at least thirty-four, and in Cutter Gap, a 14-year difference made him old enough to be my father.

But no...age didn't seem to be a concern. David was eight years older than me, and my own father was Mother's senior by nearly a decade. Sometimes the difference in our experience had vexed me when it became apparent how much more world-wise Dr. MacNeill was, but the age itself didn't trouble _me_, at least.

Religion had been a divisive element as well, but eventually I had stopped feeling threatened by his questioning and his doubt. Besides, that dispute seemed to have been swept away, for he continued to come to church regularly, and he often talked with Miss Alice and I about passages he had read, showing his genuine interest in developing his newfound faith.

Perhaps it was our relative positions in society – my family was well-to-do, and Dr. MacNeill, though comfortably situated by Cove standards, was positively poor by Asheville's. Again, I wondered what Mother would say to learn that her only daughter was considering marrying into a country family and going to live up in the mountains in a cabin. She would be ashamed to speak of the union to her friends.

I shivered at the thought and curled into the blankets. Teaching in Cutter Gap was one thing – living there was quite another. Mother's feelings aside, could _I _do it? Could I raise my children in this sort of environment, where hunger and poverty and feuding were a way of life?

I decided not to think about it; marriage wasn't a concern right now...was it? Opal's teasing had to have some truth to it, didn't it? The entire Cove apparently believed we were sweethearts....I gripped the covers, suddenly struck with the notion that maybe we were. We spent enough time together to qualify, surely – and what about today's outing? Why would he take the trouble to bring me out in the snow to see his special place otherwise? As pretty as it was, what pleasure would a mere friend have in seeing the waterfall if it didn't have some significance to him as well?

Maybe he _was_ courting me, and I hadn't even been aware of it. My heart beat a little faster, and I pulled the sheets up over my head, hating myself for the giddiness that swept over me. Well, it would certainly be much easier if he actually said something to the point....

But maybe he had, and I hadn't realized it either! How many times had he thought to broach the subject, only to be brushed away? For the first time, I realized that it was equally my fault. I did little to encourage him beyond extending common friendship – I took no pains to tell him that I was interested romantically in him.

Why was I so afraid to become seriously involved with him? David's romancing had never made me lose sleep – though he was the one to reach out to me, in some way I had always felt in control of the situation. With Dr. MacNeill, such a thing was not possible. He confused me and irritated me, made me laugh, brought me to tears, and filled me with shame. He was as bewildering as a suitor as he had been as a stranger.

Perhaps that was why I was so fascinated by him. Only recently I had begun to learn more of him – more of the real person he was – and with each meeting, I felt an insatiable desire to know still more; his character had always been a faintly troubling puzzle, but now it seemed essential that I solve its mysteries.

I wanted him to court me, I realized. I wanted the chance to learn more about him – and maybe learn to love him. Blushing despite the fact that no one else was there to witness my foolishness, I burrowed back under the covers, my mind spinning with all these new ideas.

Still, it was a matter of delicacy; the notion that it was the man's duty to court the woman was ingrained in me. I certainly couldn't say anything to him about it, but perhaps I could be a little more encouraging, a little more teasing. I wasn't sure that I wouldn't just make a fool out of myself if I tried to flirt, so that sort of tactic was out of the question. Tomorrow, I decided. I would start the campaign tomorrow. If he wasn't going to pursue me, then I would take up the chase for him.

I nestled against the pillow – his scent pervaded the sheets, though I knew they had just been washed, and I breathed deeply; it was comforting, somehow, and it didn't take me long at all to fall into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

_A/N: Our girl's got it bad! ; ) Seriously, I thought it was about time that she made up her mind. Twenty-one chapters is a long enough span for dancing around the issue. :D _

_I know this chapter was awfully short, considering that it took me a week to write it; the next one will be a bit more substantial. I hope, anyway. _

_Thanks for your feedback!  
_

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	22. Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I AWOKE THE next morning to the sound of gentle tapping on the door; and for a moment, as the sleep cleared from my head, I wasn't sure where exactly I was. Panic quickly vanished as Dr. MacNeill's voice called to me.

"Christy? Sorry to wake you so early, but we'd better be off soon."

"That's fine," I called back, brushing the covers aside and getting to my feet. "I'll be down in a minute."

"Breakfast's on the table." There was a hesitation, and then I heard him going down the stairs.

The morning air was chilly, and I washed up and changed hastily, seeing that my skirt and shirt-waist had been laid carefully over the back of the chair. As I wriggled into the skirt, it occurred to me that Dr. MacNeill must have come into the room and set out my clothes for me. I wasn't sure whether to be embarrassed that my petticoats had been in plain sight, but it was too cold and I was far too hungry to worry about it.

After making the bed as well as I could, I hurried downstairs to the kitchen. The wonderful smell of hash and flapjacks scented the air, spiced with the steam of fresh coffee. The Doctor looked amusingly domestic, stirring the frying potatoes with one hand while taking the coffee off the burner. All that was missing was a frilled white apron tied around his waist.

I muffled the snort that the image provoked, and the Doctor turned to look at me inquiringly. Trying to keep a straight face, I lowered my head and joined him at the counter, taking out the plates and silverware and setting the table.

Breakfast was consumed in quite a different mood than last evening's meal. The awkwardness was gone, though we said almost as little as before at first. I, for one, was too occupied in the food to see much merit in conversation – it tasted even better than it looked.

Dr. MacNeill, however, was inclined to be chatty. "I probably shouldn't ask, but that intent look of yours is too curious to ignore. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that you're a better cook than Miss Ida. You missed your calling, Doctor – you ought to have been a chef."

My flippant reply startled a laugh out of him.

I might have let the moment pass by, but my resolution to be bolder was still strong. "Don't tell Miss Ida that I said that."

"I wouldn't dare."

"Come to think of it," I added, gesturing to the clean kitchen, "I think you could give her a run for her money as a housekeeper too."

"More compliments, Christy? You're up to something."

Not for the first time, I wished he was just a little bit more obtuse. I flashed a smile. "And why would you say that, Doctor?"

"Oh, just a feeling."

"I didn't realize I was that predictable."

"You aren't. I find most women fairly confusing, but I believe you trump them all."

"How flattering."

He smiled. "You may consider that a compliment in return, Miss Huddleston. Complex people are by far the most fascinating."

"I can agree with that, at least," I said, thinking of my difficulty in solving the puzzle of his own disposition.

All too soon, breakfast was finished and I could see that the Doctor was anxious to have me at home before the sun rose. I was no less eager myself, as I feared that Miss Alice was worrying for me – I hoped she had considered that Dr. MacNeill would take care of me, no matter that I had not been able to return to the mission.

After helping my host clear the dishes away, I gave the borrowed clothes a quick wash and hung them over the grate. We both wrapped up warmly to ward off the cold – I accepted his scarf again, privately pleased by his fussing over my health, even if he _was_ a Doctor.

Bundled up and ready to face whatever the capricious weather chose to challenge us with, we were off. I followed him closely, placing my boots one after the other into his footprints, which had sunk deeply into the fresh snow. We walked swiftly and quietly, and he led me off the worn trail, carefully avoiding all the nearby cabins. I understood his need for discretion – his reputation was as important and as fragile as mine.

When we arrived at the mission house after an hour's speedy walking, I was out of breath and half-frozen, but the sight of dim lamplight from Miss Alice's room quickened my steps. I had been afraid that she might have kept a worried vigil all night, and from the looks of it, she had.

The front door opened without a creak, and the Doctor waved me inside. There was no fire in the parlor grate, but the instant we came through the hall, I could hear Miss Alice's distinctive tread on the staircase. She appeared before us seconds later, still in her nightclothes with her golden hair bound in a long braid.

"Christy? Thank heaven!" She hurried forward and embraced me; I held tight and assured her that I had come to no harm. Composing herself, she let me go and stepped back, noticing Dr. MacNeill lingering by the doorway.

"She's fine," he said, not moving from his post. "She had a dip in a snowbank yesterday, and it was too cold to bring her back to the mission. She stayed the night with me, and as far as I know, we managed to avoid anyone's notice."

The expression on Miss Alice's face was difficult to interpret as she looked between the two of us. She centered her piercing gaze on the Doctor for a long moment; he met her look with equal steadiness, and she finally smiled. "Well done, Neil. Christy, dear, it sounds as though you've had quite an adventure. Would you like to rest awhile?"

I declined, and Miss Alice ushered me to a seat at the table before sitting down herself. "Will you stay for some breakfast, Neil?"

"Not today, thanks -- we ate already. The sooner I get home, the better." He nodded to me. "Goodbye, Alice, Miss Huddleston."

"Goodbye," I echoed.

In a moment he was gone, and Miss Alice and I were left sitting at the table together. I avoided her gaze assiduously, blushing for some inexplicable reason.

Miss Alice made no comment on it, pouring me a cup of coffee. She was simply waiting for me to say what I had to say, and of course, I couldn't keep silent for long.

"Miss Alice, I swear nothing happened. I mean, Dr. MacNeill was a perfect gentleman, and I wouldn't have stayed over there if I hadn't fallen into that snowdrift – it was my fault anyway, because I wasn't paying enough attention, and I slept upstairs in his room while he was downstairs in his lab, so it wasn't at all improper, and we tried to stay off the main path this morning so it wouldn't look as if we had done something wrong – and we didn't do anything wrong, of course – but I know that sometimes a situation looks worse than it really is, and I'm sorry if you were worrying for me at all, but..."

"Miss Huddleston," Miss Alice said, cutting off my garbled confession, "still thy words before I am knocked over from so many clamoring to be heard all at once." She smiled. "I know that Dr. MacNeill is an honorable man and that you are too sensible to allow yourself to be drawn into something you know is not right. But that is not what makes you anxious."

I looked down. "I wasn't sure how you would feel about....That is, Dr. MacNeill and your daughter..."

"My dear child," she said tenderly, stretching her arm across the table to take my hand, "is that what you are afraid of? That I would disapprove of a relationship between Neil and yourself?"

"He _was_ your son-in-law."

"Yes, he was – but many years have passed since his marriage to Margaret." She paused. "If I ever harbored any reservations about such a union, my concerns have long since been gone. A possible marriage to David was a more pressing concern."

"David! Why didn't you say anything?"

"It was not my place," she said matter-of-factly. "You were meant to discover it in your own time, in God's own time."

"And I made a muddle of it."

"Strip that bitterness from your voice, Christy Huddleston. You have not heard the last from David, nor is that any reason for you to turn away what opportunities have been given to you now."

"Then you believe he is right for me?"

She shook her head. "What I think should not matter to you; you must not look to me for answers." After a slight pause, her expression softened and she gave my hand a little squeeze. "But between you and I, I have no objections to making you my daughter-in-law by extension."

"Then you give us your blessing?"

She looked surprised. "You are engaged?"

I blushed hotly. "No, no – I meant, if we..if _that_ should happen sometime, I would like your approval."

"You do not need my approval."

"But I would like it."

She smiled. "Then of course you shall have it."

I reached out and hugged her. "I love you, Miss Alice."

She patted my head, smoothing back a few stray curls with all the care of an affectionate mother. "And I love thee."

* * *

A/N: _Hi – I'm still alive. ; ) I haven't abandoned the story, but as you can probably tell, the gaps between posts are going to be longer. RL is pretty demanding right now, and I can't churn out a chapter every week or so anymore. I'll still try to do every other week from now on, though._

_Anyway, about the chapter: I know it was really short and more than a bit maudlin, but I figured if I didn't post what I had soon, I would never get around to it._

_Thanks for your support, reviews, and patience!  
_

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	23. Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

MY GRAND PLANS for conquering the Doctor's elusive heart were put in place that very day and continued gradually unfolding for the remainder of the week. I was more determined than the most steadfast suitor, bolder than the most outrageous flirt, and more nervous than I'd ever been in my life.

I sought out his company on my own, where I had let him come to me in the past; I took pains to include him in every conversation, watched him shamelessly when we were separated, and teased him just as much as he teased me. It was completely against the code of behavior followed by young ladies of good breeding, and for several days the effort seemed forced and too aggressive – I was surprised that he didn't ask me if I was ill.

In time, however, it became more natural, and I was able to cast away my scruples and enjoy the time I solicited from him. There was something very freeing in making my preference known. Why should he not know that I liked him, that I wanted him near me?

Still, the last thing I desired to do was frighten him away. He wasn't the sort to startle easily, but such a revolution in my attitude would surely cause some questions. Still, if he was puzzled by my sudden show of interest, he didn't mention it. I was sure our neighbors had taken notice – I saw Opal grinning at me one day after church as I was wheedling the Doctor into joining me for lunch. My predilection for his company was undoubtedly the gossip subject of choice – it made me uncomfortable, but if it took everyone in the mountains knowing about my feelings to make Dr. MacNeill understand that I cared for him, then I could stand a little harmless teasing.

Or maybe not so harmless. Not a day passed when one of my students didn't innocently ask where Doc was or how he was doing. They _knew_, the little imps – they just liked seeing me struggle for an answer without giving myself away.

Miss Alice, having said her piece, refrained from commenting on my behavior, accepting my distraction without comment so long as it didn't interfere with my teaching duties. I tried as hard as I could to keep my thoughts focused on the children during the day; my personal life should have no effect on my teaching.

And so time passed as I waited for some sign from the Doctor. It seemed absurdly arrogant to expect a proposal or a declaration of love, neither of which I was yet ready to accept, but I was hoping that we could at last discuss our desire for some sort of permanent commitment. Or, if he had decided he no longer wanted to pursue a courtship, I would drop my attempts at courting _him_. I prayed that wouldn't be the outcome, but even that would be a definitive ending. I wanted some kind of closure, a 'yes' or a 'no.' I was tired of dangling between two possibilities, tired of not knowing what he really wanted from me. By the end of the next month, I hoped to have my answers.

Of course, I hadn't taken into account Dr. MacNeill's own growing impatience. It took all of a week for matters to come to a head.

* * *

"MIZ CHRISTY!"

I looked up from Mountie's arithmetic sheet and groaned. "Creed! Give Sam Houston his slate – yes, I mean right now! – and tell him you're sorry. Creed, I'm serious. Now."

Reluctantly my angel-faced rapscallion handed the slate back to his seat-mate, shooting me a dirty look for spoiling his fun.

"Thank you. Please finish your work, Creed." I bent back over Mountie's paper and Zady Spencer let out a shriek.

"Miz Christy, John pulled my hair!"

I blew out an exasperated breath, grateful that it was almost three o'clock. The entire day had been like this, loud and frustrating and chaotic. Little Burl had accidentally spilled half of an inkpot on the hem of my skirt, I had been forced to break up a fistfight during dinner spell, and the entire class had seemed disinclined to concentrate on what I was teaching. Finally I had given up, assigning a sheet of arithmetic problems, but the majority of my students were chattering and fidgeting instead of working.

I dismissed the class ten minutes early, my head pounding with the beginning of what felt like a migraine. After cleaning up, I sat down at my desk and laid my head on the cool wood. On days like this, it was hard to remember why I loved teaching so much.

"Christy?"

Hurried, heavy footsteps crossed the floorboards, and I felt a rough hand press against my hair. "What is it? Do you feel sick? Did you hurt yourself?"

I raised my head, wincing a little. "Just a headache, Doctor. I'm sorry if I worried you."

Dr. MacNeill's eyes narrowed. "Put your head down," he ordered, "while I get some aspirin powder for you."

I obeyed, closing my eyes against the painful glare of the afternoon sunshine. He was gone for a scant minute or two, returning with a full glass of murky water. "Drink this," he commanded, pressing it carefully into my hand. Again I did as I was told, grimacing at the bitterness of the aspirin.

Dr. MacNeill pulled up a chair and sat with me until the medicine began to take effect. The pulsing discomfort slowly ebbed away, and at length I was able to sit straight in my seat. "Thank you," I said fervently. "I'm so grateful that you were here."

He acknowledged my thanks with a curt nod. "You've been working too hard, haven't you?"

"Not so much." Looking at him, I realized he was nattily dressed in a tweed hat, spotless vest, and leather coat. "Going on a call?"

"No – I'm due to travel to Knoxville. My supply is low, and I like to select the medicine myself."

"Will you be gone long?"

"About a week – maybe ten days. I have friends in the area I've been neglecting lately."

My heart dropped into the bottom of my pointy-toed, button-top boots. "A week?"

"I only go every six months or so." He shrugged. "I've already asked Alice if she would consider handling any emergencies that come up, and she agreed to it. Don't fret."

"I'll try not to." He was watching me closely, and I turned toward the window, heat rising in my cheeks. "There's still a good deal of snow on the ground. Do you think you'll be safe traveling all that way by yourself?"

He grinned. "I think I'll manage."

"You will be careful, though?"

"Of course."

"Good."

We sat in silence. A week – gone for a week! I hadn't been separated from him for such a length of time since my return from Asheville. I wondered briefly whether it was healthy to feel such dependence on someone's company, but he interrupted my thoughts by reaching across the desk to take my hand.

I startled at the contact, staring down at the big, blunt-fingered hand atop mine. The innocent touch stole my breath away, and I sat there numbly, gazing at our entwined fingers like a simpleton.

"Christy." I looked up unwillingly, and the expression on his broad and honest face was one of mingled anxiety and a strange, stern tenderness. "I think we need to talk."

"Do we?" I choked out.

"Yes. I have to know before I leave. Perhaps it's selfish of me, and I hope you will forgive me for it later...but I _have_ to know."

"Know what?" I parroted, hearing the tremor in my voice.

He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut, letting go of my hand. My palm tingled, and I had the strongest urge to snatch his hand back, but the seriousness etched on his face brought me back to the present.

"I'm not an eloquent person, Christy." He ran his hand through his hair. "I must have planned a dozen ways to say this, but...well, may I be blunt?"

_As if he was ever anything but._ "Yes."

"We've never had a very easy time understanding each other; I've been wondering what in the world I would do about you since the day you came here. You're...different."

I couldn't tell whether that was a good thing or not.

"I've been living alone for several years," he continued, after a small hesitation, "and I hadn't realized...Have you ever felt lonely, even when you're in a crowd?"

Although he could have been more clear, I could relate to the feeling.

"Well, I suppose I hadn't ever noticed how alone I was. Oh, I had friends, and plenty of neighbors to talk to, but – " He broke off with a sigh. "I'm not making any sense at all, am I?"

"I came to Cutter Gap and made you feel lonely," I repeated cautiously, like a student reciting a lesson.

His lips quirked into a reluctant smile. "No, you didn't – you just made me aware of what I was missing."

"Oh."

"You've been a good friend to me," he said abruptly, shifting in his chair. "You gave me a fresh perspective on my life and my work here in Cutter Gap. You brought me back to faith. I can't tell you what that means to me."

"I value your friendship too, Doctor."

"That's just it. Christy, I don't want that – That is, I can't pretend that's all I want anymore...I..." He sighed again. "You know, the entire time you were at the cabin, I kept thinking how nice it was to have someone else with me. The house has been empty for a pretty long time, Christy – and it made me understand how...how much I've missed having someone close by.

"This may sound completely foolish, but I've been tiptoeing around this issue ever since Grantland left, and before that I wasn't sure what you would think of it...but as it is, I'm tired of waiting and planning and being careful. I have to ask or I'll never forgive myself for another lost opportunity. Christy, would you let me court you?"

It took a moment for that all-encompassing question to penetrate my mind.

"I'm not trying to push you," he said, misinterpreting my silence. "It doesn't mean you're committed to anything further. I'd...I'd just like a chance."

The uncertainty in his voice thawed the shock from me, and I threw myself across the desk to wrap my arms around his neck. "Of course I want you to court me!" I cried, hardly able to speak around the lump in my throat. "I've been waiting so long for you to ask!"

Dr. MacNeill let out a bark of astonished laughter and squeezed me gently to him before carefully peeling me away. "That can't be comfortable," he said, leading me around the desk so I could perch next to him on the bench. We sat there, side-by-side, for what could have been hours or maybe only a few minutes. Time had ceased to exist for me in those first ecstatic moments. We talked and prayed together, and I cried until my eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. Anyone observing the two of us would have thought us mad, but my joy and the relief of being able to express what I felt after a year and a half of suspense were immeasurable.

I didn't want him to leave, but he truly did have to make the appointment in Knoxville, and he promised me tenderly that he would hurry back as soon as he could. It was too ironic that our first moments of happiness would be interrupted by a long separation, but perhaps it was best this way. The sweetness of the day was also mingled with the awkwardness of a situation that had changed drastically and suddenly, and perhaps we both needed a little bit of time apart to grapple with the change in our lives.

I stood on the steps of the schoolhouse and waved as he mounted Charlie. This man – this amazing, wonderful man – loved me, wanted me! _Me!_ He set Charlie at a brisk pace down the road, and I waved, calling after him to be careful. He turned in the saddle and waved back, smiling so peacefully that I felt my worries melt away. Suddenly a week didn't seem so long after all.

* * *

_A/N: Yeah! It's about time, huh? Up next: the Cove reacts to the news that Doc's sparkin' Teacher. Now the fun really starts. I hope this chapter wasn't too sentimental -- Neil's a hillbilly man, after all, and isn't into all that touchy-feely stuff. :D  
_

_Thanks for your kind comments!_

* * *


	24. Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

OUT OF RESPECT for Dr. MacNeill, who was still away in Knoxville, no public announcement of our courtship was made, but I received many private congratulations from our friends and neighbors – some were more subtle than others.

"Hear you an' Doc is sparkin' now," Uncle Bogg remarked to me after church that first Sunday. "Reckon it's a good thing – ain't right fer a young gal like yerself to be without a man and young'uns. When's the weddin'?"

Opal was a little more tactful. "I've been prayin' fer ye, and I know ye'll be the happiest couple on this side o' the mountains. Neil's been a widder-man fer too long; yer jest what he needs. Oh, ain't this the blessed best news?"

Miss Alice was also pleased; she kissed my forehead and wished me well. It was a modest gesture, but it brought tears to my eyes. She never failed to find some new way to surprise me, whether it was with her strength or her unconditional acceptance.

Acceptance was something my parents were not going to have an easy time with. Everyone knew courtship led to marriage – it was simply the expectation. They would not take the news that I was being pursued in earnest lightly; it was as binding a commitment as an engagement here in the Cove.

I suspected that Daddy would take the news the best; he would be shocked initially, of course, and his curiosity about Neil would be intense. He would withhold his approval or disapproval until he knew the man courting his daughter. Mother, on the other hand...I didn't want to contemplate it.

I had begged the Doctor to wait until he returned before spreading the news any farther than the denizens of Cutter Gap. He had been adamant about speaking to my father properly for permission, but I managed to sway him in the end, just as I knew I would. I was relieved, for I didn't relish the thought of a confrontation with my mother so soon; I wanted time to adjust to the arrangement before I had to defend it.

I tried not to feel guilty for keeping my parents deliberately in the dark, but those feelings were easily pushed away in my preoccupation with school and missing Dr. MacNeill. It was astonishing to me that I could want him so desperately; he had been away on longer journeys before, and I had never felt this overwhelming longing for him to return. Perhaps the knowledge that my feelings were reciprocated was the trigger for this embarrassing dependency.

The children were in a bustle of excitement -- Ruby Mae must have dropped in at the mission house a dozen times during the week to tease me about the Doctor and ask about my nonexistent wedding plans. I tried repeatedly to turn the subject to her pregnancy, which was progressing remarkably well, but her delight in a new romance to gossip about was so overpowering that she thwarted my every effort.

I was a little worn down by all the attention, but privately I was pleased by it too. I would have to ask God for some help with the feeling of possessive pride that was swelling so rapidly in my breast. I didn't want to seem smug, but it was a surprising effort not to be when such good fortune had come into my hands.

And so, in a tide of well-wishes and curious questions, I waited impatiently for Neil to return. He called once he was in Knoxville to let me know that he was safely arrived; it would be another full week before he would come back, however.

When he did come, I was ready for him – Charlie's distinctive gait and clopping hooves gave me fair warning, and I went out onto the porch to meet Neil, who promptly appeared around the bend, looking trail-weary but content.

I let out a cry and threw myself at him, hugging him tight, oblivious to the fact that the snow on his leather jacket was melting onto my blouse. Oh, but it felt so right to have him home! His scent surrounded me, warm and musky and male; I looked up at him, admiring the quiet smile flitting around his lips, the shining cornsilk hair that curled boldly over the tips of his ears. Why had I never noticed these little details? It was almost as if I had never really seen him before.

"Good afternoon, Miss Huddleston," he murmured as he led me inside the house.

His tone was playful, but there was a hint of surprise in it as well, and I pulled back, suddenly aware of how forward I was being. I felt myself blush, and the happiness of the reunion was marred by an unwelcome influx of embarrassment. Had I been too abrupt?

Before I could withdraw to the table, he snagged my hand and kissed it with such tender gallantry that my unease melted away. "I've missed you, Christy."

"I missed you too, Doctor."

He followed me back to the table and helped me into my seat. "Don't you think 'Doctor MacNeill' is a little too formal now?"

I paused and then laughed. It had become such a habit to call him 'Doctor' that I hadn't realized how stilted it sounded in light of our new connection. "I've missed you too, _Neil_," I said, rolling the sound of it around on my tongue. I liked it. It suited him – a strong, honest name.

He sat with me at the table, letting the fire drain the dampness from his coat. I wanted to know all about his week in Knoxville, and he made me laugh with tales of his misadventures in the 'big city.' I listened to his low velvet voice with pleasure and would have happily sat there in the kitchen for hours had Miss Alice not come in to help with supper.

She and Dr. MacNeill – no, _Neil_ – talked comfortably while I started supper. We ate together and spent the evening lazing by the fire. It was the perfect ending to the day, and while the company was pleasant, I longed to have a minute alone with Neil. I was impatient to talk with him; there was so very much I wanted to say, so many questions I had to ask. How does one go about learning everything about the person they love?

He bid me goodnight, promising to come back tomorrow after school was done, and I was forced to remind myself that courtship was made for the purpose of building up a solid friendship between lovers. We would have all the time in the world to learn about each other, to know each other intimately. I could wait.

I went up to bed deliciously happy and sent up a special prayer of thanks to the one who had made all this joy possible.

* * *

I WAS AWAKE and out of bed early the next morning, eager for the day to begin. I dressed in a flash, gulped down a quick breakfast, and hurried over to the schoolhouse. The day was bright and beautiful, and I was brimming with excitement. My buoyant mood spilled over to the children, and we ended up accomplishing very little of academic worth.

I dismissed the children at three and sat down at my desk to wait for Neil, attempting to work on my grade ledger to pass the time, but my mind was drifting far away from numbers and percentages. He came within a half-hour, spiriting me out of the classroom and into the field, the snow drifting around our boots as we walked.

We chatted lightly, mostly for the purpose of hearing each other's voices; but something was weighing on his mind, and it didn't take long for him to come to the point.

"Christy," he said, as we circled the pond for the second time, "I would like to call your father tonight."

I froze.

"What is it?"

Looking down at my feet, I was silent, unable to express my fears. He was still waiting for a response; I worried my lip and mumbled, "Nothing. Daddy should be at home by six."

Neil didn't answer, and I started forward again, determined not to let my anxiety ruin the afternoon. I paused, however, as his hand gently curled around my shoulder, slowing my steps. "Christy."

I glanced back at him and was startled to see the anguish on his face. "If you've changed your mind...if you are having second thoughts..."

"What? No! Of course not!" I was horrified by the way he had interpreted my hesitance. "Neil, that's not it. I want you to court me."

His face relaxed only infinitesimally. "But you don't want your father to know."

I sighed – I should have known that nothing but a full explanation would satisfy him. "Not my father; I'm more concerned about Mother's reaction."

"You think she won't take it well?"

"I know she won't." Frustration seeped into my voice. "It's not you, Neil. She just...she has such a desire to have everything in its proper place. She has always wanted me to marry into a good family, into wealth; she doesn't like the thought of me living in the mountains, and she can't imagine why I love it here. She won't understand."

He blew out a short breath, smiling. "Christy, I'm sure she'll understand eventually. Give her time to adjust to the idea – it's not as though we'll be eloping next week. She'll come around."

I shook my head. "It's not like that, Neil. You don't know Mother. She's ashamed to even speak about where I'm teaching – to even _think _of her daughter marrying a mountain man..." I trailed off, aware that he had become very quiet. "Neil?"

He was rigid, looking at me closely. "And you?"

"What about me?"

"Are _you_ ashamed?"

My mouth dropped open. "I beg your pardon?"

"Some part of you is worried too," he said softly, with no trace of accusation, "worried about what your friends and relatives will think. Don't lie to me, Christy. I can see it in your face."

I wanted to say that it wasn't true; I wanted to scold him for daring to presume that I would even think, for an instant, that he was less worthy than any Asheville beau because of his roots....but I couldn't. He spoke the truth. Some small part of me, some small, secret part of my heart, was anxious about the gossip, frightened of what people back home would think of me for marrying so low.

"I'm not ashamed of _you_, of who _you_ are," I said, hanging my head, "but you're right." I covered my face with my hands. "I'm a horrible person."

I felt his arm drape tentatively around my shoulders. "Don't be absurd. I'm not angry with you, Christy. I understand, really, I do – but I think we need to talk about this. Presumably courtship will lead to something more, sometime in the future, and these issues must be discussed before they become real stumbling blocks." A strange, sorrowful expression flickered briefly across his face. "If I learned anything from my first marriage, it was that little problems quickly become very serious ones if they aren't dealt with honestly."

Did I deserve such a wonderful man? No, I didn't think so, but I was glad to have him all the same. I grasped his hand and smiled, leaning my head against his shoulder. "I have the rest of the afternoon free," I said, squeezing his fingers. "Let's talk, then – and we can call my parents tonight. Together."

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A/N: _Ah, the awkwardness of young love. ; )  
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_Thanks for your reviews, and a very Merry Christmas to you all!_

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	25. Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

THE SEASONS CHANGE very slowly in Cutter Gap, Tennessee, but at long last spring came and drove all the lingering signs of winter away.

It was mid-May, warm and sunny, and a great deal of alterations came with the turning of the month – the greatest of these changes was that I now shared the mission house with the Reverend Moses Iverson and his wife.

The new preacher was a friend of Dr. Ferrand's, and had volunteered to fill David's vacant position in the Cove. He had arrived early in the year, just after the worst of the February snowstorms, and he and Mrs. Iverson had settled quickly in with us.

Reverend Iverson was a mild-mannered gentleman in his early forties, an opposite of his predecessor in almost every way, and not the sort of man one would expect to end up in the mountains. Short and stocky, he had blunt features and a neatly trimmed black mustache, peppered with grey. His disposition was about as unassuming as his appearance.

It had taken some time for the mountain people to welcome the unseasoned "preacher-man" from Cincinnati; the children in particular had difficulty accepting him over their beloved David -- Reverend Iverson was a man more suited to quiet conversation than physical labor, and he hadn't half the wind-power in the pulpit.

Still, Uncle Bogg and some of the other men seemed grateful that the preacher wasn't a hothead. (David, for all his mellowness, _had_ possessed quite a temper.) I suspected the moonshine fiasco was still fresh in their minds. The reverend surely wouldn't pursue the issue at once, since he seemed more apt to let matters lie as they were.

The same could not be said for his wife: Mrs. Iverson – or Anne, as she insisted on being called – was a veritable force of nature. Three years older than her husband, she was nonetheless a constant source of energy, bustling here and there and joining in the workings with enthusiasm. She had a wild Irish temper to match her fading cinnamon hair; even Miss Alice had been on the receiving end of one of her stubborn fits. The occasional upsets aside, she was a likeable woman, and feistiness was a great virtue in Cutter Gap, after all.

My days were spent chiefly at school, trying to incorporate new subjects into the curriculum. Opal had given me the idea to integrate "art" classes – the girls worked on improving needlepoint skills and began learning the basics of knitting and weaving. Granny Barclay was kind enough to spare some of her time to teach, since I was pitifully inept with any sort of sewing. The boys were taught some carpentry and carving, with the help of Jeb and Mr. Holcombe.

Penmanship and spelling were special points of interest for the year, and the children worked on them with minimal amounts of grumbling. And of course, at my request, the science lessons were taught by a very talented doctor; I paid him for his work with a steady salary of kisses, though he did demand a "raise" on occasion, which I was only too happy to give.

Neil and I were officially courting now, with the full blessing of my parents – or rather, of my father. Mother had not yet accepted the fact that her daughter had made her choice; our relationship was somewhat strained, although Father did his best to smooth it over. From his descriptions, I could only imagine that she was still hoping I would come to my senses and choose one of the Asheville gentlemen she had picked out for me.

I knew it would be a drawn-out struggle between us; Mother was nothing if not determined. I fretted that Neil would be hurt by her immediate rejection, but he assured me that as long as I wanted him, no one's disapproval would matter a whit. My father had offered us his consent, and that was all he required.

Of course, there was more approval than not on _our_ side of the state. Now that the Doctor and I were courting, the daily question was how soon we were going to be married. I brushed off the suggestive comments as best I could, still somewhat uncomfortable with that kind of forthrightness. Where I came from, a person's romantic life was an improper subject for conversation; and even now I couldn't stop myself from blushing at the frank mention of marriage and children.

Besides, there was no need to rush things, despite Ruby Mae's belief in short engagements. We were both relatively young, and it had always seemed to me that building a firm relationship before marriage guaranteed its success. I enjoyed the excitement and romance of our courtship, and I was reluctant to see it come to an end.

Neil really was marvelously patient with me. He had been alone so long that it would not have surprised anyone – including me – if he had asked for a spring wedding. I probably would have agreed to it; it was impossible to refuse him anything, especially since he asked for so little from me. Why, it had been two weeks full after our telephone call to Father before he even attempted to kiss me.

That memory was a particularly fond one: he had brought me out to the river to fish, and though I proceeded to scare away every living thing in the water with my abysmal casting, Neil had just laughed and encouraged me to try again. We spent the entire day there on the riverbank, and when we finally gave up, I was drenched and breathless with laughter, my hair falling in sweaty strands around my face, mud splashed over my skirt and hands — and he kissed me, right there in the river.

We fumbled with clumsy passion, but nothing had ever been sweeter. His big hands trembled where they cradled my face, and my heart had expanded to encompass a new explosion of love for him. In that moment, we were truly equals, Neil and I – a man and a woman who had struggled through a great deal to find this happiness together.

After all the conflict of the past year, it was a delight to be free from anxiety and uncertainty, though that peace was rather upset a few weeks after the Iversons' arrival.

Miss Alice, Mrs. Iverson, Zady Spencer, and I had been thoroughly cleaning out the small attic room in the mission house when Anne pulled me aside.

"I was charged with giving this to you when Moses visited Reverend Grantland to speak about his new position," she said, directing me into the empty parlor, "and I've been waiting for the right moment to give you this. Something tells me this is right time."

She reached into her apron pocket and drew out a letter with a sly look, and I discovered why when I saw the bold, familiar handwriting on the envelope. _David._

With trembling hands, I took it and tore open the manilla paper; there was only one sheet, covered with his messy scrawl.

_To Miss Christy Huddleston, Cutter Gap, Tennessee, _

_Dear Christy,_

_I meant to send this letter sooner, but I wasn't entirely sure how to approach it – there are so many things that we left unsaid that I hardly know where to start._

_Ida and I are in Boston still, living with Mother, whose health continues to fail, though we are praying for a swift recovery. I am employed in my childhood parish, under the direction of Reverend Arthur Brookes, who is helping me work through many of the struggles that affected me during my time in the Cove. I think I am finally beginning to understand what Miss Alice tried to make me see; I am trying to turn over my life to God, wholly and completely. It is not easy, but I believe I now understand how essential it is to everything else in my life._

_It has been an adjustment living in the city again – I confess that I miss the openness of the mountain country. Everything seems so crowded and smoky here in Boston. _

_I sincerely hope you have been content, whatever path you chose. When Ida and I left, I wouldn't let you talk to me like you wanted to – I wouldn't listen to you when you tried to make things right between us – and I am heartily sorry for it. I regret that I ignored the problems; everything aside, we had a friendship that ought to have been respected. For that, I ask your forgiveness. _

_This seems like too brief a message, after months of separation, but I honestly cannot find a way to express what I feel in words. I think you understand – you always knew me better than I knew myself. I wish you every happiness in the world, and let that suffice._

_Sincerely,_

_David Grantland_

My throat was tight as I laid the letter aside, and I was surprised at the rush of feeling that overwhelmed me at the sight of his name – I missed him so much. But this letter...I didn't know what to think. There was something so very _final_ about it, as if he were contacting me only to slip away again before I had the opportunity to reply.

I had toyed with the notion of writing to him for several months, but considering the note on which we had parted, I did not know whether he would welcome any correspondence. I must have started the beginnings of a hundred letters, but I had never known what to say or how to say it. The situation with Neil complicated it; I could hardly renew our friendship only to tell him that I was in love with someone else. Poor David! I still regretted the inexperience that had resulted in an injury to one of the best men I had ever known.

Escaping up to my room at Anne's suggestion, I had reread the brief letter a dozen times, trying to understand what David meant by writing it. Perhaps he hoped for a platonic friendship; perhaps he no longer loved me in the way that he once had; perhaps he loved me still. There was no definite answer.

I knew I had to reply – he had given me an apology when I didn't deserve one, and I needed his forgiveness too. I was so pleased to hear that he was trying to change himself, pleased that he had not given up on his calling, but what could I possibly say? How could I recover the kinship that had always bound us together without giving false hope?

Whispering a prayer for His guidance, I had sat down at the desk to compose my reply, little knowing what the consequences would be.

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_A/N: Oh, gee, I posted! ; ) I hope everyone had a lovely holiday and that no one minds that I skipped ahead here a bit; if I went step-by-step through Neil and Christy's initial courtship, I would never finish this story. But rest assured, we shall see more interaction between the happy couple in future chapters. _

_Thanks for your comments and support!  


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	26. Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

ALTHOUGH THE SHOCK of Fairlight's death was still fresh in the minds of Jeb and the children, the Spencers were at last beginning to heal. She was gone, but the promise I had made to her after her funeral was a constant reminder of her presence. I could not come into their cabin to cook supper or help Zady and Clara with the cleaning without feeling her over my shoulder, watching my fumbling attempts at housework with amusement. I knew somehow, somewhere, she was looking after us – always the quintessential wife, mother, and friend.

Now I missed her more than ever, frequently finding myself walking to the Spencer cabin to discuss some new experience at school or ask for advice about Neil, only to remember halfway up the trail that Fairlight was no longer there waiting for me.

When she wasn't doing chores, Zady spent most of her spare time at the mission; I knew she craved affection and attention – Jeb did his best, but it wasn't in his nature to be open with his children – and I often contrived to have her join me on little errands. I loved her dearly; she was so much like Fairlight, and it wasn't a bother at all to have her around. There was such sweetness in her, but such strength, something I had come to see was at the core of many of the Cove women. That courage would serve her well later in life, and I wondered at times if I would be up to meeting those challenges myself. In any case, I enjoyed her company; she was far quieter than Ruby Mae, especially around Anne, whose unpredictable disposition intimidated her.

John was at the mission almost as much as his sister. Reverend Iverson wasn't fit for much physical labor, so he had agreed to hire John to help out with the more strenuous tasks, paying him a generous salary for his efforts. He was a good boy and a very hard worker, and the money would make life easier for the Spencers come winter.

My free time was pretty much divided between the Spencer and McHone cabins, although I still paid my weekly visit to Swannie and the O'Teale children. Neil had made it a habit to come with me when he could, presumably to check on the health of the families, but I suspected his enjoyment had a lot more to do with the fact that we always had at least an hour to ourselves on the walks to and from the mission.

Today, however, I was on my own – Opal made it a habit to have a "baking day" once a week, and I loved to come over and help. The task was easy enough for me not to make a fool of myself, and the kinship I felt with Opal was special to me. It made me feel like a part of her family, and she couldn't know how much that meant.

This week cornbread was the order of business: I sat at the table, kneading the dough set in front of me while Opal commanded the process with the precision of a drill sergeant, mixing fresh batter and taking the finished loaves off the fire before they burned. Toot and Vincent were playing in the loft; every so often their rowdy antics would send a cloud of straw shooting out into the air and unto the floor, but Opal only shook her head tolerantly and let them have their fun.

Isaak was out hunting, for which I was grateful. I suspected he had taken off as soon as he saw me coming up the hill; my visit today wasn't just for some cooking lessons. What had started as a small problem in the schoolroom was rapidly evolving into something more serious, and I couldn't ignore it any longer.

Opal, as always, uncannily picked up on my mood. She set a bowl of cornflour down on the table and leaned over, looking at me with a smile. "Say what you gotta say afore you explode." She laughed at my look of surprise. "I can see it writ all over yer face. Ye've got a reason fer comin' today."

"Actually, there is a reason," I said, smiling despite myself. "As much fun as this is, I have something I need to discuss with you."

My expression must have said everything, for Opal grew serious and quickly sent the boys outside to gather some brush for the fire. I waited until Vincent and Toot had gone out into the yard before turning to my friend. "Opal, I wanted to talk to you about Isaak."

An inscrutable look masked her face, and she let out a faint sigh. "Tell me what ye have to say. I reckon it ain't anything I haven't been worryin' about myself."

"You've noticed, then? His behavior?"

"I'm his momma," she said, grasping the steaming pan with her apron and setting it atop the mantle, "and try as he might, he cain't keep those things from me. He's like his pa, always so quiet, but a body can read his face like a book."

"He's not concentrating in class or doing his homework," I said, "and I've had to reprimand him several times for picking fights with some of the other boys. Isaak has always been such a good student....I...I just wanted you to know."

"He's full of hate, Miz Christy, and I reckon he don't care iffen he's doin' his schoolwork," she said matter-of-factly. "I know Rev'rend Grantland tried to help, but now that he's left, Isaak don't have nobody to talk to. I fret about him. I don't want him ter be so angry, but he won't tell me nothin' anymore. My sweet little boy...."

There was a momentary silence as Opal sat at the table, looking down at her work-worn hands.

"He ain't forgiven me yet fer letting Bird's-Eye in the cabin that night, when you was with us," she said, her tone light but her eyes weary. "I reckon he sees it as betrayal – Tom wouldn't have never gotten kilt if..."

"Opal," I interrupted. "It wasn't your fault. You saved Tom because of what you did. Bird's-Eye never hurt him."

"No, I suppose he didn't," she said softly.

"It wasn't your fault that Lundy took it into his head to prove he was a man either. Your kindness to those moonshiners didn't harm Tom."

She sighed again, and I saw her lips quiver ever so slightly before she stood up to put the next pan over the fire. "It's jest hard sometimes, is all." Her eyes were full of silent anguish. "I cain't help but wonder if Tom didn't think I was true either. You know 'bout me an' Bird's-Eye. I cain't stand thinkin' Tom mighta died feelin' like I chose someone else over him." Her voice broke, and she turned back to the fire.

Words were so inadequate. What could I say? For the first time in several months, I felt like the child I was. I had never known the pain of losing a husband – just the thought of a life without Neil was too dreadful to contemplate – and I wished Miss Alice was here to give Opal all the right assurances.

Opal kept her back to me, but I saw her lift her faded apron to wipe her eyes. "I'm sorry, Miz Christy – I didn't mean ter bend yer ear, but I got some regrets that jest won't let go. If there's anythin' I learnt, it's that I oughta been honest with Tom, and told him what mattered."

"Oh, Opal..." I whispered, very much affected by her words. I knew how much she had loved Tom, yet it couldn't have been easy for him to watch his wife open up her heart to care for the men who were hunting him. For the first time, I wondered how Neil had been able to watch me grow closer to David day by day, unable to approach me himself.

"Don't you fret none fer me," Opal said, returning her attention to the fireplace. "I'll think of somethin'."

"Opal —"

"If Isaak gets hisself into more tomfoolery, you tell me, Miz Christy, ye hear?"

I nodded and let Opal change the subject, but I could not forget what she said. Coupled with David's letter, it seemed almost too much of a coincidence. Perhaps I was due for a talk with Neil.

I had my opportunity the next afternoon; Neil was taking me to his favorite spot behind his cabin, where the trees thinned into a small sunny glade. The grass was soft and sweet, and the sounds of the river filtered into the thatch – this was Neil's sanctuary.

As he bustled around, setting down a blanket for me to sit on and sorting through the tackle box for just the right fly, I closed my eyes and daydreamed, remembering the first time he had brought me here, a week after we began courting in earnest.

He had been so nervous, so full of anxiety that I wouldn't like the view or I was be bored whiling away the day in such a way, but it took very little to convince him that his fears were unnecessary. The meadow was beautiful, and I could have happily stayed there with him forever.

We had often come back since then, when we were in need of a quiet moment together. Our visits had to be relatively brief, as our reputations were still fairly fragile. It was only natural that attention should fall onto us, but there would never be any sort of scandal, as Neil zealously safeguarded my good name. There was a true gentleman underneath that rough-edged exterior.

Today, at least, we were secured of a few hours' time together. I lazed on the blanket and watched him fiddle with the reel, marveling at how delicately his blunt fingers adjusted the little wheel and string. He was a walking paradox, my Neil – how could a man be so strong and so gentle all at once?

I rolled onto my side to see him better as he wound up the fishing wire, the muscles in his arms shifting beneath his shirt. A wave of smug, feminine pride swept through me – I guessed that I really wasn't as sophisticated as Mother wanted me to be, since I found the sight of him casual and disheveled infinitely more appealing than neat formality.

"Neil?" I said, the sound of my voice unusually loud after that long spell of silence.

He turned to smile at me. "Yes?"

"David wrote to me."

There was a pregnant pause, a faltering of his grasp on the reel, but otherwise he was carefully stoic, waiting politely for me to say what I had to say.

"He apologized to me and wished us well. He doesn't exactly sound happy, but I believe he'll be better soon." His expression still hadn't changed. "Neil, can we talk?"

He put down the pole at once, coming over to sit beside me; I reached for his hand and he gripped mine tightly. "What is it, Christy?"

"I talked with Opal today," I told him, "and I realized that I haven't been entirely honest with you."

Hearing the sadness in my voice, he stopped and turned to face me. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"I know I've treated you unfairly – you and David."

He started to protest, but I interrupted. "I know that the past is the past, but I realized while I was with Opal that we haven't been open with each other about David, or about what happened between all three of us." I met his eyes, and saw nothing but patient curiosity there. "I did love him, Neil."

He flinched a little, but didn't look away.

"I was lonely, and he was there...I think I would have married him if things had turned out differently, but I also know that I would have lived with regrets if I had." I squeezed his hand. "I'm telling you this because I need you to understand. I don't know exactly what David had in mind when he wrote to me, but you need to know that I no longer love him the way I did before. In another set of circumstances, he might have been the one for me, but you and I," I smiled, "we have something more, something a hundred times stronger, and you have to see that I love you and only you. Don't forget that."

I trembled, the last of my bravery draining away with the end of my dramatic speech. Neil awkwardly smoothed the hair back from my forehead and kissed me softly, poignantly. "I'll never forget it. I love you."

I laughed with pure relief, knowing it wasn't easy for him to say those words to me, even now. "I love you too."

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A/N:_ Aww! Aren't they just pwecious? ; ) Neil 'n Christy's courtship will still be the focus of the story, but things will start to get interesting in the Cove soon. It's just been too peaceful – we need some action. _

_Thanks to you all for your feedback!  


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	27. Chapter 27

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

REVEREND IVERSON, FOR all his good qualities, had one decided weakness: his wife's pecan pie. Mrs. Iverson was in the habit of making it every Sunday as a special treat, and Miss Alice and I had been privileged enough to learn how to make it, although Anne steadfastly refused to tell anyone the exact ingredients used in her "secret" pecan filling.

This Sunday we were at work in the kitchen, putting in two fresh pies – it had become, in the last two months, something of a ritual. I loved these lazy afternoons after the service was over. Laughing and chatting comfortably with Miss Alice and Anne in the small kitchen scented with mouth-watering spices was a particular pleasure.

The delicious result of our labor was well worth the trouble, and I always managed to sneak a few pieces for Neil, who had an insatiable sweet tooth. I doubted he would be back in the Cove soon enough this week to have his usual share – there was a small rash of dysentery up on Raven Mountain, and he had been traveling back and forth almost constantly for days.

Fortunately, no illness had struck Cutter Gap yet; I didn't think I could bear a serious epidemic – even of something as comparatively commonplace as dysentery – so close to the last one. It still bothered me that Neil had to be exposed to such a range of diseases, but I kept my concerns to myself, knowing that he had chosen to accept the risks by taking this line of work.

"Christy, knead with your knuckles, not your palms." Anne was peering over my shoulder, pointing sternly at the mass of dough under my fingers.

"Sorry," I mumbled, embarrassed at being caught dawdling – there was no dawdling in Anne's kitchen. She and Miss Ida would have gotten along famously.

Miss Alice was busily roasting a handful of sugared pecans over the stove, but I could see the amusement tugging at her lips, and I wondered if she had ever had the same thought. Probably. She was just too diplomatic to say so.

"Looks like this one is about done," Anne announced, peering into the old pot-bellied stove. "Ten more minutes, I'd say." She straightened up and groaned lightly, twisting her arm around to rub her back. "Moses had better appreciate this; you'd think after twenty years, he'd never want to eat another pecan again. I had my fill years ago – Lord knows why I keep making them."

Miss Alice chuckled. "Love defies all logic."

"Maybe so...." Glancing over at me, Anne grinned. "Learn from our mistakes, Christy. Don't spoil that man of yours any more than you do already."

Blushing, I put the dough aside and went to wash up some dishes, concentrating fiercely on a dirty plate to avoid having to meet anyone's eye.

The front door slammed open, flying into the wall with a deafening bang. I shrieked, the plate slipping from my hands and shattering on the floor. Before I could react, Miss Alice was gone, out into the hallway to confront whatever was there. Anne followed quickly, and I was left standing there dumbly until a familiar voice cut through to me.

"Alice!"

The urgency in Neil's shout sent a cold shock through me – in a panic, I hurled the dishrag into the sink and ran.

Neil, Jeb, and Bob Allen were in the hallway, supporting a limp body between them. I didn't recognize the unconscious man; my attention was caught by the fact that there was blood everywhere. My stomach lurched as the scene began to sink in – Bob's leather jacket and Neil's hands were covered with gore. The bitter, coppery scent of blood assaulted my nose and filled my stomach. My head began to spin.

I felt Anne's strong hands on my shoulders, pulling me back into the doorway, away from the sight. "Christy, go get water."

I moved without any thought, weaving dizzily out to the water pump. The fresh air blew away the horrible smell, and my vision cleared; I pumped as quickly as I could, splashing the water all over my shoes and skirt as the bucket filled. Struggling with the weight, I hauled it into the kitchen, not caring about the mess I was making. Anne took it from me as soon as I crossed the threshold, pouring it into a pan to boil over the stove.

I could hear voices upstairs – the men must have brought him up to one of the bedrooms. Pausing to snatch a few blankets and towels from the linen cabinet, I hurried up the stairs.

Neil and Miss Alice were sitting on either side of the Iversons' bed, consulting quietly with each other while the others hung back. Neil saw me first, his face lined with tension; he beckoned me forward.

Miss Alice had wiped away some of the blood on the man's face, and my heart leapt into my throat as I realized who was lying there.

"Mr. Taylor!" I croaked, looking to Neil for some kind of explanation. What on earth was Bird's-Eye Taylor doing here in Cutter Gap? He had disappeared again just after I left for my holiday in Asheville, and he hadn't been seen since. What had happened to him?

"Sam Houston and Creed found him," Neil whispered. "Mary tried to patch him up as best she could while Bob went to get me."

I swallowed. "Is...will he be okay?"

Neil shook his head. "I don't know yet."

Footsteps pounded on the stairs, and Reverend Iverson rushed into the room, tailed by a white-faced and frightened Sam Houston.

"Bob, Jeb, will you come here and hold his arms still?" Neil appeared to take no notice of the newcomers, focused entirely on the curved needle he was threading. "His leg is fractured. I'll need to set it before the swelling starts."

"Christy," Miss Alice put her hand on my shoulder, "perhaps you can take Sam Houston downstairs and find something for him to eat?"

Sam Houston nodded enthusiastically, but judging from the look on his face, he wanted an excuse to escape the blood and needles more than he wanted food.

"Of course. Call if you need something, Miss Alice." Taking his hand, I led him down the stairs and into the kitchen, where I cut him a slab of cured ham and some bread. He picked at his dinner listlessly, without the usual appetite of an active boy; it didn't take long for him to abandon the pretense and ask if we could move into the parlor.

It was still late afternoon, but I brought in a few pillows and some blankets, and made up a makeshift bed on the divan. Sam Houston, undoubtedly exhausted from all the fuss, lay down without a fuss, and I sat next to him, listening to the muffled sounds coming from upstairs and wishing I knew what was happening.

We didn't talk – Sam Houston was uncharacteristically silent. I hummed softly, combing my fingers through his hair; he winced as I hit a high note. I stopped and smiled. "That bad, is it?" I whispered.

He looked apologetic. "Ye can't hold a tune worth nothin', Miz Christy."

The voices upstairs grew louder, and feet shifted on the floor, bodies moved, lifting something, turning something. I remembered what Neil had said just before we left and realized what was happening. Too late, I reached out to cover Sam Houston's ears – the sickening sound of snapping bone told me that Neil had set the broken leg. Sam Houston shuddered and wrapped one hand unconsciously around his arm, where the fracture had healed over. I squeezed his shoulder and hummed again – anything to drown out the noises above us.

It didn't take long for the weary boy to doze off. No one came downstairs, and I was wary of going back up. Anxious to help in some way, I ended up sweeping the broken glass and scrubbing down the hall floor, which was spattered with blood. The smell made me sick to my stomach, but I held my breath and worked, praying all the while that Neil and Miss Alice would be able to save their patient.

Finally, as the afternoon waned into evening and still no one emerged from the Iversons' room, I curled up on the chair next to Sam Houston and closed my eyes. There was nothing to do but wait.

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A/N: _*Gasp!* I know, I know – I'm a real jerk for making you wait until the next chapter to find out what happened to our favorite ornery old moonshiner. : )_

_Thanks for your feedback!_

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	28. Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

THE NEXT MORNING brought no encouraging news – Miss Alice and Neil had spent almost the entire night in surgery, and several hours after dawn, Bob and Jeb came downstairs to take Sam Houston home, informing me briefly that Bird's-Eye was still kicking, though he wasn't in good condition.

The Iversons appeared next, and though the Reverend urged me to go to the bunkhouse and get some proper sleep, I was determined to wait for Neil. Finally, with nothing to do, I prepared a large breakfast, hoping that he and Miss Alice would be hungry enough to eat it. Concentrating on poaching the eggs, I didn't notice that Miss Alice was in the kitchen with me until she laid her hand against my back.

"Miss Alice?" I swung around, nearly upending the hot griddle. "Miss Alice, what happened? How is he? Did Neil—?"

"One thing at a time, please," she said wearily, reaching past me to put the pan safely back on the stove-top. "I think perhaps Dr. MacNeill can explain better than I. You may go upstairs now, if you wish."

I kissed her cheek, worried to see her so exhausted and unhappy. She thanked me for the food and promised she would find time for some sleep before returning to the sickbed; and as I started toward the staircase, she advised me to try to convince Neil to do the same.

I entered the room tentatively, remembering my reaction to the blood downstairs – thankfully the only smells inside were of lye soap and rubbing alcohol. Neil was sitting on the end of the bed, measuring a dull white powder into a glass of water. Instantly my eyes were drawn to the figure lying next to him, and I couldn't stifle the gasp that rose in my throat.

Neil turned to look at me, his eyes bloodshot. "He's better off than he looks." His voice was hoarse with disuse. "A week or two here, and he should be on the way to a full recovery."

I moved closer – Bird's-Eye's head was wrapped with heavy gauze, his face swollen almost beyond recognition underneath the white swath. I could see a plaster cast running the length of his left shin.

"What happened?" I demanded.

Neil shook his head. "We won't know for certain until he's awake, but Bob has a pretty good guess."

"Which is...?" I prodded.

"Did you know Bird's-Eye had shut down his stills after the epidemic?"

The question jarred me. "No. Why?"

"Bob thinks that one of his partners might not have been so happy about losing the revenue."

"Someone did this to him _on purpose? _Is he badly hurt? What did you have to operate on?"

He seemed reluctant to tell me, but he was too tired to prevaricate. "He was beaten severely – besides his leg, he had some internal injuries, which Alice and I caught before they could bleed into the abdominal cavity. There was some damage to his skullcap, so we'll have to see how that turns out, but there's no sign of any dangerous pressure. Sam Houston found him before any irreparable harm was done. He's a lucky man."

I sat down on the mattress, looking at his battered face. What a pitiful sight it was! Bird's-Eye had finally done something selfless and shut down his stills, and he ended up beaten half to death for his trouble.

"Can they catch whoever did this to him?"

Neil took my hand. "I doubt it. The men were probably from across the state line. They shouldn't bother him again, Christy. They probably think he's dead."

I shivered and gripped his hand tighter.

Despite Neil's fears, Bird's-Eye's head injuries didn't seem serious. He regained consciousness after three days, and although the morphine Neil gave him for the pain made him sleepy and unaware, he didn't appear to have grave complications.

He was hardly coherent, but somehow he managed to be a difficult patient anyway. It had taken all of Neil's powers of persuasion to convince Bird's-Eye that he needed to stay at the mission; and Miss Alice had to explain at least ten times why he was not allowed to keep his shotgun by the bed.

Still, I didn't mind acting as his nurse. I couldn't forget Bird's-Eye's kindness to me during the epidemic, so I looked after him to the best of my ability, which admittedly wasn't all that much, since I had to leave the room whenever Neil cleaned the open wounds.

News of the incident spread very quickly – the day after Bird's-Eye was brought to the mission, Isaak McHone arrived on our doorstep.

I had just finished changing the bed sheets in David's bunkhouse – where Mr. Taylor was now staying – when I spotted my student, standing a few yards away, his eyes as round as saucers, his hands fisted at his sides.

I put down my laundry basket and took a step toward him. "Isaak? What is it?"

He only looked at me, white-faced and trembling. "Why is _he_ here?" he demanded, pointing toward the bunkhouse.

_Oh, dear. _"Mr. Taylor has been hurt, and we're trying to help him get better."

"He killed my pa!" The outburst startled us both.

"Isaak, sweetheart..." I wished David were here; he would know what to say. "Mr. Taylor didn't hurt your father. What Lundy did was terrible, but you can't blame anyone else for it."

"He coulda stopped him," Isaak cried with sudden passion, angry tears spilling down his flushed cheeks. "He coulda stopped him iffen he wanted to! I hate him! I hate him!"

I reached out for him. "Isaak..."

"I hate _you_!" With a sob, he jerked out of my hands and ran across the field and up toward the hillside. I let him go, feeling sick. Why could I never find the right words when they were needed the most?

"Sometimes showing anger is important, Miss Huddleston." Miss Alice's voice gave me a start; I turned to see her on the porch steps. "Hatred is an insidious emotion," she said thoughtfully. "It grows and festers when it's left inside too long – the best thing to start healing it is to acknowledge that it's there. Ignoring it only gives it the opportunity to sneak up and erupt into violence when you least expect it. He's acknowledged it. Now he has to decide what he's going to do with it."

"And what if he decides..." I couldn't say it, but in my mind, I could see the devastation that would follow another family feud.

"Isaak McHone is a frightened and lonely boy with a great deal of pain to cope with." Miss Alice came to stand next to me, keeping her eyes trained on the mountain slopes in front of us. "He has a good heart, and that can overcome any temporary upset. When it comes down to it, he'll do what's best. Perhaps he just needs a nudge in the right direction."

Patting my shoulder gently, she went back into the bunkhouse, leaving me to my thoughts.

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_A/N:_ _Yeah, this chapter is short, but Ch. 29 should be eventful enough to make up for it. ;) Thanks so much for all your reviews!_

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	29. Chapter 29

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

IT DIDN'T TAKE very long for me to find Isaak, since he hadn't gone far. I hesitated on the path, looking down to the riverbank where he sat, his face buried against his drawn-up knees.

I took a moment for another heartfelt prayer. Isaak was a bright and inquisitive boy, full of fresh enthusiasm, clever and generous like his ma, yet introspective – there was so much potential in him, I knew there was. It angered me to think that all those qualities were being wasted because of senseless resentment. I did _not_ want Isaak to be the next casualty of this pointless feud.

I approached slowly. If he heard my footsteps, he didn't acknowledge it – he continued to peer stoically at the river from between those knobby knees.

"Isaak?"

His shoulders jerked forward, and he lifted his head slightly to steal a glance at me. For a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer, but his ma had taught him too well to allow for any more deliberate rudeness. "I won't run nowhere, Miz Christy."

"I'm glad to hear that, because I want to apologize to you."

He turned his face until his cheek rested on his leg, looking at me with open surprise, his anger momentarily forgotten. "What fer?"

I stepped cautiously around the tangle of brambles around the bank, coming closer to his solitary perch. "I'm afraid I haven't been holding up my end of the deal. Do you remember what I said after...after your father's funeral?"

His brow puckered, and he shook his head.

"I told you I would always be here if you needed to talk, and I'm sorry to say that I haven't kept my promise. I haven't been listening, Isaak, and I hope you will forgive me."

"I will," he said, though he seemed confused – undoubtedly he had been expecting some sort of furious scolding for sassing me earlier.

"Thank you." I bent to pick up a smooth round stone from the bank and tossed it into the river; we both watched the water ripple and undulate around it. "Isaak?"

"Yes'm?"

"I'm listening now."

He ran his hands through his white-blond hair. "I don't wanna talk."

I didn't reply, throwing out another stone. It skipped twice as far as the other one, and I saw Isaak smile reluctantly at my triumphant exclamation.

"Why's he at the Mission, Miz Christy?" he asked softly, after a long stretch of silence. "It ain't right, him bein' thar."

"Why do you hate Mr. Taylor?" I countered.

"I have ter hate him," he said stoutly, his mouth set in a grim line that seemed absurdly out of place on such a round and childish face.

"And why do you _have to_?"

"Lundy done shot my pa like some sorta critter – weren't even brave enough to own up ter it! And Bird's-Eye let him do it."

"Is that so? What do you propose to do about it?"

He stared up at me with those disconcertingly solemn blue eyes. "I aim ter do what the Lord says: an eye fer an eye."

I shivered at the merest idea of this innocent boy taking up a rifle with the intent to kill. "Isaak, you_ know_ that's not right. Didn't Reverend Grantland teach you what that passage meant?" Despite my efforts to keep calm, my voice rose in agitation. "Do you think that hurting someone else will make things better?"

"Gran'pa says it'll make me a man," Isaak retorted, but his tone was more uncertain.

An instant rebuttal was my instinctive reaction, but I could hardly criticize Uncle Bogg in front of his own grandson. I paused and took a steadying breath, choosing my words with care. "I don't believe that's true. Fighting is never brave – any coward can pull a trigger. It takes a real man to have the strength not to strike back and take revenge." I crouched down, laying one hand tentatively on his thin shoulder. "There is _nothing_ honorable or brave about hurting another person, Isaak, no matter what they've done to you."

I stayed quiet, letting him absorb that thought, watching as his stern facade slowly crumbled away until all that was left was a bewildered, weary-eyed boy.

"Forgiveness is the brave thing to do – it takes courage to forgive someone who's done you wrong."

"I don't know how," he mumbled.

"Isaak, why did you forgive me so easily, when I told you how I broke my promise?"

He shrugged. "Ya didn't mean ter break it."

"And if I had? Would you have taken 'an eye for an eye' too? Would you have started up a feud? Would you have hurt me?"

He flinched. "No, ma'am. I wouldn't never hurt you."

"I know that – just like I know that you could never hurt Mr. Taylor."

His face crumpled, and he turned away. I reached out to touch his cheek, bringing his chin up so he met my eyes. "That isn't a weakness, Isaak. It's a strength – you have the strength of character to forgive, even if you believe that what you really want is revenge."

He was quiet for a long moment, and when he looked back at me, I had to suppress a sigh. The rage was gone, and I could see that he was on the verge of understanding something new – what, I didn't know...but I _did_ know that Opal's boy was going to be fine. Not today, perhaps, but he was listening, and that was a perfect beginning.

"Would you like a little time to yourself, Isaak?"

He nodded, offering me a small smile. I rose and shook the loose soil from my skirt. "I'll see you in school again tomorrow?"

"Yes'm."

I returned to the mission house in high spirits, knowing that one more desk would be filled come Tuesday. It would be good to have Isaak back. I wanted to run over to Opal's to tell her the news, but Isaak should have the opportunity to talk to his mother before I did. I would wait until tomorrow.

There was, however, someone else to tell. Reverend Iverson informed me that Miss Alice was at the bunkhouse with Bird's-Eye, and I went there post-haste, carrying some milk and bread that Mrs. Iverson had just made for the invalid.

I knocked and opened the door, and to my surprise, I found Miss Alice perched on a chair next to the bed, reading her worn old Bible aloud. Bird's-Eye immediately turned as I came inside, seemingly embarrassed to be caught listening to a woman preachin'. I hid my smile and set the tray down on the dresser, leaving Miss Alice to work her miracles.

Crossing the field back to the house, I heard a faint rustling in the brush, and I turned eagerly, expecting to see Neil's smiling face – he hadn't been over to visit in several days, as he had been off on his usual rounds.

Oddly enough, when I looked, there was no one there. No Neil, no Isaak...no one.

"Hello?" I took a step toward the edge of the clearing, thinking that one of my students was trying to prank me. "Creed Allen, come out of there now."

There was no answer, no crackling leaves or twigs. Perhaps I'd just imagined it.

To pass the time until Miss Alice came in, I helped Anne put on an early supper; my mentor arrived over an hour later, looking quietly pleased as she joined us at the dining table.

Mrs. Iverson, ever impatient, asked the question that we all wanted to answer to. "Well, did he listen, Alice?"

Miss Alice set aside her knife and fork, giving us a secretive smile. "He did. I believe Mr. Taylor may make his way home after all."

I almost choked on a mouthful of potatoes. "So you're saying he's....?"

"No, not yet – but he is very lonely, and without Lundy, he seems to believe that he has nothing left, especially after these recent difficulties. Sometimes we need to be desperate before we are willing to see the truth." She looked around the table soberly. "We must not press him now. He has to make his choices."

As we cleared the supper dishes away, I shared my own news with her. "Isaak McHone is coming back to school."

She put down her dishrag and bent to kiss my forehead. "Excellent work, Miss Huddleston."

Everyone went to bed early that evening – Miss Alice and Anne were both weary from tending to Bird's-Eye, and I wanted to finish some papers before school the next morning. After putting the sheets to order and changing into my nightclothes, I said a prayer, blew out the lamp, and fell into bed.

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I DREAMT OF Isaak that night. He was at the riverbank, playing in the water with Little Burl and Creed; I saw his happy face and heard the ring of the boys' laughter over the ridge, and there had never been a sweeter sound. I watched their games, entranced by the simple pleasure of playing in the sunshine.

Caught up in their joy, I didn't notice the smoke until it was too late – before my eyes, the gently-lapping water burst into flame, spewing black filth high into the summer sky, setting leaves and flowers ablaze. I screamed, stumbling back from the bank, the flames licking at my skirt and shoes – the river was molten fire, flowing past me with terrifying speed, and it struck me then that the boys were gone.

I screamed again, the shrill noise reverberating in my head as the fire swept up the bank toward me. _Creed...Isaak...Fire...Fire...Fire...._

I sat up in bed with a gasp that was immediately choked off as fresh air failed to relieve it. I couldn't breathe! I flailed under the quilts, clawing frantically until it occurred to me that what was filling my lungs was smoke...._real_ smoke.

"Oh, God!" Shooting out of bed, I lurched across the floor, and my sleep-blurred eyes instantly flew to the doorway, where thick black smoke crept under the door, lit with a faint orange glow. My bare feet were scalded with heat where they rested against the hot floorboards.

"FIRE!" I ran to the window, dazed and disoriented, gasping for breath. "Miss Alice! Reverend! Help — _Fire!_"

I couldn't hear anything at all except the wild throb of blood pounding in my ears; I staggered back toward the door, and without thinking I grasped the iron latch. I cried out and let go of the red-hot knob, clutching my burnt fingers in the other hand. It burned... It burned so badly that tears sprang into my eyes, and I bent over with a sob. Oh, Lord, it _hurt_!

Blinded by tears, I crawled back over the window and struggled to open the casement. It was jammed shut – I could only open it halfway. I tried to shout, but it came out as a hoarse croak; my throat felt thick.

I sank slowly to the floor, feeling weak and sluggish, my head muddled. _Fire...fire...Neil....._

As if from far away, I heard the sound of shattering glass, and I stared at the glittering little shards as they fell against the floor next to my body. I watched, fascinated, as they reflected the pale red brilliance of the fire.

Hands slipped around my waist, lifting me up – someone was shouting in my ear, but I couldn't understand a word. I wished they would stop; I was so tired. I just wanted some sleep. I felt my body moving, but I wasn't doing anything...it was strange. I was flying....

The shock of cold air against my face cleared my head, and I blinked up at the dark sky, suddenly aware that I was lying on the ground, and someone was shaking me.

"_Christy! Christy!" _

I turned my head and saw a man looming over me, his face pale and frantic – it took me a moment to recognize him, and I reached out for him; he caught my grasping hand and held it gently.

I tried to talk, but the words erupted into a coughing fit, my lungs scrambling for oxygen. I wheezed and moaned as they filled, pushing out the smoke, and Neil's strong hands curved around my ribs, lifting me up into a sitting position, my head tucked against his chest.

"Easy now." I could hear his voice, soothing and calm. "Easy, love. Breathe in slowly. That's it."

I coughed until my throat was raw, and when I was done, I laid back against his comforting warmth and let the exhaustion take me.

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_A/N: I apologize for yet another month in between posts. I seem to have contracted some irritating writer's block, and the chapters I've been putting out lately have been pretty mediocre._

_Anyway, I hope this chapter was exciting enough to make up for it. Tune in later for the next episode, in which we'll discover what just happened to our poor mission folk. __**:**__0 _

_Thanks for all your lovely reviews! It's truly encouraging to know that people are enjoying this story.  
_

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	30. Chapter 30

CHAPTER THIRTY

FOR THE SECOND time in so many months, I awoke to the low, soothing cadence of Miss Alice's voice. "Christy? Christy, dear, wake up."

It was astoundingly difficult to prise my eyelids apart, and the instant that fact registered in my mind, my attention was consumed by the deep ache that throbbed throughout every fiber of my body. Someone groaned, and it took me a moment to realize that the pitiful whimper had emanated from my own mouth.

A sliver of brilliant light stabbed my eyes, and gradually Miss Alice's face materialized in front of me. She was pale, her hair untidily piled atop her head, and as I focused on her, the fretful lines in her brow vanished.

"What happened?" I rasped, hardly recognizing the hoarse, guttural voice as my own.

Miss Alice's soft hands cradled my face tenderly. "Darling girl, you cannot seem to keep yourself out of mischief for more than a week." She spoke in a hushed whisper, the reason for which became immediately apparent as I noticed Neil's sleeping form crammed into the tiny sofa in the corner of the parlor.

"Neil?" I felt a restless longing to have him closer.

"He deserves a rest," Miss Alice said gently, compelling me to turn my concentration back to her. "He has been up with you all night, and most of the day; he refused to take so much as a few minutes to tend to himself. I doubt he will be asleep long – he might as well enjoy what rest he can now."

Grudgingly, I leaned back into the pillows, my desire for Neil taking a reluctant second place to concern for his health. As I shifted, however, I become aware of a dull pain in my right hand – I looked down, only to discover that my arm had been swallowed up in a thick swath of white gauze. I tried to wiggle my fingers, an action I soon regretted. "Ooh!"

"Don't try to move, dear. You've burned your hand – you need to let it heal properly."

"Burned it?" I stared down at the colorless fabric before a surge of sensation rammed into me. Of course – fire. There had been a fire.

"I know you must be confused," she continued, "but you are safe now. There was a fire in the house last night; it started on the staircase and burned up to the second floor. No one was seriously hurt – you were the only one to sustain any injuries.

"I am afraid your bedroom has been too damaged to salvage any part of it. The Iversons' room was half-burnt too. Reverend Iverson rang the bell, and help arrived quickly, so the fire was extinguished before it could extend to the rest of the house."

I nodded, my head still abuzz; my eyes were drawn over involuntarily to Neil. "Is he...?"

"He's perfectly sound," she smiled at me, "but he will be far better when he knows you are recovering." Reaching out, she smoothed the bedclothes. "Do you want to sleep a little more?"

Despite my confusion, I was too alert for sleeping. "I don't think so. May I have some water?" My throat was parched.

Miss Alice left, and no sooner had she disappeared into the kitchen than Neil began stirring in his chair. I held my breath and watched, hoping rather guiltily that he would wake up; I wanted to hear his voice – I wouldn't be completely at ease until I did.

He turned on the cushions, stretching like a great cat, and yawned once. One blink, another blink, and then his sleepy eyes met mine. For just a moment, it was silent as we looked at each other, and then my wakefulness seemed to penetrate his consciousness.

"Christy!"

He was off the sofa in seconds, his hand clapping instinctively over my forehead to check for fever. I smiled and reached out for him, only to remember at the last moment that my right hand was useless – I stretched out my left instead, touching his cheek.

"How are you feeling?" He bent over, all business as he scrutinized me for any new medical complaint.

"Not too poorly." I laughed a little, making an odd wheezing sound. "I don't think I'll be teaching any penmanship lessons this week, though." I gestured to my limp hand.

His face became stony, troubled, and a little spark of fear leapt through me as I realized that my injury might be more serious than I believed. "I..." My voice cracked. "Is my hand...will I never use it again?"

Neil's look of surprise was enough to reassure me. "Hmm? No, your hand should heal well. It is a superficial burn – with the right treatment, you should regain full use."

"Oh, I thought...You looked like something was wrong."

"It may scar, Christy." The thought seemed to pain him. "I'll apply what salves I can, but I can't promise it will look the same."

A little scarring wasn't anything too awful – but then it occurred to me that maybe it would be to _him_. I gazed down at the soft, unblemished skin of my left hand. Perhaps that was what distressed him so much. "I'm sure it won't look very pretty," I hurried to say, assailed by sudden insecurity, "but it's only my hand, right? It will hardly be noticeable."

His mouth was set in a stubborn line. "You shouldn't have even a few scars," he said abruptly, angrily. "Why is it that everything seems to end with _you_ hurt?"

I looked away, ashamed. "I can hide them, I'm sure. I'll ask Mother to send some powder; you won't even know they're there."

"Powder? Christy, what...You don't think that_ I_ care about a few scars?" He seemed torn between amusement and indignation. "As lovely as your hands are, my commitment to you doesn't depend solely on them."

I laughed, a little sheepish. "I'm sorry, Neil. I'm having difficulty being rational."

"Understandable – you've been out for the past fifteen hours." He leaned over to kiss my hair.

With every passing minute, the fog around my mind dissipated more, until I could recognize the heavy scent of lingering smoke. The parlor was close to the stairs, and Miss Alice had said the fire started there....Wait. The fire had started on the_ staircase?_

"Neil, how did the fire start?" I demanded. "Miss Alice said something about the stairs...."

That flinty expression surfaced again, and he wouldn't answer at first. It took several more attempts to coax the truth out of him.

"We don't know exactly who was responsible yet, Christy – a few of the men are looking into it – but we do have a fairly clear idea."

I gasped. "Someone purposely set the fire?"

"Yes. Bird's-Eye spoke to Alice last night after we pulled you out of the house. It seems that after he shut down his stills, some of his associates weren't pleased with him. They weren't content with just hurting him last week – they had meant to kill him, Christy. When that attempt didn't succeed, they came after him again last night. We can only assume that they had heard he was staying at the mission and believed that he was sleeping in the house. They forced the lock and torched the house from the inside." His voice grew cold, brimming with suppressed rage. "And so they nearly killed you, all for a few gallons of whiskey."

"Neil, I'm here. I'm safe now." I ventured a tremulous smile, but the attempt quickly failed. "Those men – they're gone, aren't they? They won't be back?"

"Not if they value their lives," he swore. "We'll be keeping a closer watch for strangers from now on."

I felt obligated to scold him for those unchristian sentiments, but my own terrifying experience was too fresh for me to feign outrage at his need to protect me. "And Bird's-Eye? Was he hurt?"

"Not at all – the men must not have realized the bunkhouse was there; it is hidden fairly well in the brush."

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, interrupting our conversation. I tensed before realizing that Miss Alice must have come back. It wasn't Miss Alice, however – Reverend Iverson stepped into the room, holding a glass of water.

"I'm mighty glad you've decided to come back to us, Miss Huddleston," he said kindly, handing me the glass. "I hope you are feeling better?"

"A little," I said, taking a sip of the water gratefully – it soothed my throat at once. "Thank you."

Neil helped me set the glass down on a nearby table before he turned to the Reverend. "Was Bird's-Eye resting when you left him?"

"Pardon me?"

"Mr. Taylor – did he rest any?"

The Reverend's bewildered expression didn't change. "I'm sorry, Dr. MacNeill – I'm afraid I don't understand. I haven't seen Mr. Taylor since this morning; he said...."

There was a pregnant pause. As if a notion had just struck him, Reverend Iverson bolted out of his chair with a low exclamation and was out of the front door in a flash. Exchanging a startled look with me, Neil rose and hurried after him. Ignoring his instructions to stay put, I threw off my quilt and stood up shakily. Tucking my bandaged arm carefully against my chest, I ran out the door, following his retreating figure toward the bunkhouse.

Neil was far stronger and accustomed to labor, but I was faster. I easily outdistanced him, trying not to listen to his furious demands that I return to bed. It took only a minute to reach the bunkhouse, and I stopped on the porch steps. The Reverend had frozen just outside the doorway, where the door gaped open. With an uneasy feeling rising in the pit of my stomach, I peered around his shoulder into Bird's-Eye's room.

The bed was empty.

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_A/N: Hello, thar! It's been awhile, but I hope this chapter provided a few answers. Poor Bird's-Eye -- the man just can't get a break. _

_Anyway, we're starting on the home stretch now; there will probably only be about six or seven more chapters. A HUGE thank you to all of you who have stuck with this story, despite the atrociously long pauses in between posts. :D I really, really do appreciate everyone who has taken the time to read and/or review this story! Your responses have been so encouraging -- thanks for leaving me so much love. ;) _

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	31. Chapter 31

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

A FULL-FLEDGED SEARCH for Bird's-Eye Taylor turned up nothing – the ex-moonshiner simply seemed to have vanished. Reverend Iverson was concerned that he had been abducted by the men who set the fire, but Neil believed that Bird's-Eye, who hated being beholden to anyone, had likely taken off as soon as he realized his presence had led to the disaster at the mission.

It was hard to think of Mr. Taylor being left to wander the hills alone, still recuperating from a variety of painful injuries, but Neil insisted that there was nothing we could do about it, and to pursue the man would be unkind. "Let him have his pride, Christy," he told me, when I asked Miss Alice if yet another search party would be sent out. "He's lost everything else he values."

Miss Alice regretted having to let him go when she believed he had been so close to a real change of heart, but there was little she could do either. We let him go with hopes that he would be safe and prayers that he could find some measure of peace for himself.

With that, the focus shifted from Bird's-Eye to the damaged mission house; the men of the Cove once again proved their resourcefulness and versatility by using slats from the bunkhouse to rebuild the burnt second floor. Even at the pace they were able to build, I had to stay in Miss Alice's cabin until the work was completed. Fortunately, the men worked with astonishing speed.

Rapid recovery seemed to be a prevailing theme in Cutter Gap: if something was broken, fix it quick. That was how life was here – no lingering over a problem. People grieved and then moved on, rebuilding to make things bigger and better than before.

There was something to learn from that mountain philosophy. My life had been a constant whirl of turmoil, joy, fury, pain, and hope since I had stepped off that train in El Pano two years past, and now it was time for me to rebuild and let everything settle. So much had changed since that day – I was older, presumably wiser, and more confident in myself and my place in the world. I had learned how to cope with love and loss, how to welcome a new love and say goodbye to a friend. Everything of my past life was rebar, burned away by experience, and now it was time to rebuild. At last, I was ready to move on.

* * *

SPRING MELTED AWAY into hot, lazy summer, and I was left with enough spare time to return my attention to past resolutions: namely, adult classes at the mission. The plan had been interrupted by the outbreak of typhoid, but my enthusiasm for the project was rekindled one day in late June by a chance conversation.

I had been walking out by Lonesome Pine Ridge, up past the Spencers' place, and I must have wandered all the way into Holcombe land, for I met Elizabeth Holcombe down by the riverbank, scrubbing her way through a heaping pile of shirts and overalls. I didn't know Mrs. Holcombe as well as I did some of the other mountain women, but when we did meet in church or at the ladies' sewing circle, she was always perfectly friendly. Why hadn't I made an effort to know her better before? I decided to cross over to talk and help, if she would let me.

She glanced up as I waded through the shallow water and smiled. "Mornin', Miz Christy."

"Good morning, Mrs. Holcombe. It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

"Aye." She snapped a sodden shirt to fling the excess soap from it. "Mighty fine, but I reckon we'll have a spot of rain later today."

Mrs. Holcombe straightened and loaded the sopping clothes into a large weave basket. She was a tall woman, heavy with muscle, but her delicate, feminine features made an intriguing contrast to her sturdy figure. She had a nice, frank smile and large almond-brown eyes that seemed at once both shrewd and mild.

"May I help you?" I asked, seeing the size of the laundry pile.

She hesitated, looking me over as if taking my measure. "Shore." She pointed to a shack of shirts. "Thar's some soap."

I set to work, the familiar sting of lye pinching at my fingers. The passing of two months had healed the burns on my hand, but Neil had been right about the scar tissue – raised, shining pink flesh stood in ridges along my right palm. It was ugly, but privately I had come to accept it as a sign of sorts, physical proof of my change.

We worked in silence for a bit; the mountain people took their time with conversation, choosing their words leisurely until they had found just the right way to say what they wanted to say.

Mrs. Holcombe spoke first. "Miz Christy, I've been talkin' with Opal McHone some, and she tole me you've been teachin' her ter read and write an' sech."

"I have." I looked at her curiously, wondering where this was heading.

"I know it's a bit to ask, Miz Christy, but I was thinkin' that mebbe you mought be willin' ter teach me too. My young'uns love their schoolin', and it doesn't seem right that I don't know how ter read ter them from books." She laughed at herself. "Cain't let them get smarter than their ma."

"I'd be happy to teach you," I said, excited at the prospect of another pupil. "But your husband....do you think he'd agree?"

"John, waal, he'll jest have ter bend a bit," she said determinedly. "He had a bit o' schoolin' himself when he was a boy – he can read some and do figures right fine. That's where my Lizette gets it. As long as I still put plenty of good vittles on the table and kept the cabin neat, I don't think he'd fuss much 'bout me getting some learnin'." She turned those lovely brown eyes toward me, hopefully. "Would it be much trouble, Miz Christy? Ter teach me?"

"Of course not. I would love to teach you." A delightful thought struck me. Even better – Opal might be willing to help too. I could only imagine how much pleasure she would take in sharing her knowledge with the other ladies. My head was suddenly full of ideas...or schemes, as Neil would call them. I put aside the shirt and sat down, reeling with notion of adult classes. The women could all learn together...maybe we could make it a Bible study – they always liked to hear the Scriptures...or maybe a sewing circle, or something like that, where they could take turns reading, but have something else to work on as well so their workload wouldn't pile up. Or maybe cooking classes could be incorporated into it – the ladies could learn to write by copying recipes. I would have to ask Miss Alice if she had any cookbooks left....

I was startled when Mrs. Holcombe eased herself down next to me on the bank. "You look like yer a hundred miles away," she laughed. "Lizette says yer always brewin' ideas when ye get that look."

"Mrs. Holcombe, do you think many of the other ladies would like to learn to read?"

"Call me Elizabeth," she said cheerfully, straightening her apron as she settled back into the grass. "And yes, I reckon thar would be plenty what would like ter read. Course, it depends on whether or not their menfolk will let 'em. Lots of work ter do."

My enthusiasm deflated slightly at this reminder. "Oh. Do none of the women read?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "'Sides Opal, none." She paused. "Wait – Becca Thomas might. She went ter school in Lyleton afore she was wed."

"No one else at all?"

"Not many ed_oo_cated people come here," she said sensibly. "Not exactly a prime place fer bloomin' minds; only city folk we ever have are the preachers, Miz Alice, an' Doc. Missus MacNeill too, but she weren't here long."

My busy musings stilled at the mention of Neil's late wife. I hadn't thought of Margaret for many months, but a picture of the engraved mirror on Neil's bureau popped into my mind, and I felt an odd empty sensation in my stomach. I didn't know why the fact that Margaret's things were on his dresser should disturb me so much – I hadn't even remembered it until now – but suddenly I was feeling very uncomfortable indeed. "That surprises me, I guess. I believed Miss Alice would have set up some sort of program."

"Waal, she knows how the men can be here. I reckon she knew she stirred up enough talk with her bein' a preacher-woman. She's real careful 'bout how she does her business – a right smart gal."

"Yes." I shifted uneasily. "Or I thought maybe...um...Mrs. MacNeill might have offered to teach, considering that she was educated too...."

Elizabeth looked at me for a long moment. "You want ter talk about her, don't you?"

I was flustered at being found out so quickly. "I...well, yes."

Elizabeth plucked up a blade of sweetgrass and chewed thoughtfully on the stem. "I don't know whether it's my place or not, Miz Christy, but I suppose it can't hurt none. You see, I knew Missus MacNeill – or at least, I knew her as well as anyone did here."

"Did you really?" I leaned forward eagerly. "What was she like?"

"She was beautiful, she was. Loads of shiny hair like dark honey, and purty blue eyes jest the color of your'n." Shrugging, she bent and plucked another stem. "Don't rightly care ter speak ill of the dead, but she weren't so friendly – cold as Blackberry Creek in January, matter of fact. When she an' Doc first come back ter the Cove, I went ter visit..." She stopped and looked over at me. "Did you know that when I was a little Teague gal, I lived down by Big Spoon Creek, near the MacNeill place? Our homestead was a ways up the hill behind their cabin. It's naught but an empty shack now; after I left home to wed with John, my brother Rip moved the rest of the family up north."

"I didn't know that," I said. "I didn't think anyone ever left their homesteads."

"Ain't so uncommon. The water was better up thar, an' all those steep trails were awful hard fer Aunt Polly. It were time ter move on. Anyhow, me and my brothers spent all our child-days thar near Big Spoon, an' we knew the MacNeills awful well. Doc's ma and pa, they was good people, an' we young'uns all played together. Got into heaps of mischief too." Elizabeth's face softened with remembrance. "Neil ain't changed much these twenty years."

I smiled to think of that boy – quiet, probably, with a streak of stubbornness and an insatiable desire to read every book that came his way. I wondered whether his red hair had been as messy then as it was now.

"When he went away ter the city, we was all afeared he'd never come back. His ma cried fer nigh on a week, mournin' him, thinkin' he was gonna die out thar without her ever seein' him agin. We hardly knew where this Philadelphy was – jest that it were someplace far, far away. He was the first man-person in the Cove ter go outta Tennessee."

"As I was tellin' you, I went off ter see Neil again and meet his wife. Waal, Doc was right glad ter visit, but Missus MacNeill sat thar, hardly sayin' a word, starin' down her nose at me. She was dressed so fancy-fine, in the purtiest shining cloth, and she looked jest like a queen. I felt like a regular beggar-woman, even though I was wearin' one of my very best frocks – a store-boughten one that John gave me fer Christmas." She chuckled. "I wondered whether I oughta kneel down an' kiss her hand."

I laughed reflexively, but everything in me was focused on hearing more.

"I left awful quick an' I didn't come back none fer a while. Mebbe I should've, but she made me feel so low." Elizabeth shook her head. "Vain thoughts, them. You ever felt that way, Miz Christy?"

I thought of my conversation with Mr. Hale at the Havyvescroft's Christmas ball. "I have, plenty of times."

"Seems that she treated all the ladies that way, 'cause no one really wanted ter talk to her. Only Fairlight kept goin' over."

I thought that sounded very typical of Fairlight's gentle determination to reach out to others. "Did Fairlight befriend her, then?"

"She tried ter, an' kept a-tryin' till Miz Margaret up an' died. I reckon it weren't all Missus MacNeill's fault, though. She was a city-gal through and through. Nothin' here was good enough fer her – she liked all that excitement and noise and crowds in the city. Fairlight said she kept talkin' about Philadelphy, and all its art an' culture." She shrugged. "Reckon I don't know much 'bout art or culture, but whatever they are, she shorely missed them. She jest didn't like the mountains. That weren't our fault – or hers."

Bits and pieces of Miss Alice's explanation about her daughter and the MacNeills' marriage were coming back to me. "Did she tell Dr. MacNeill that she wanted to go back?"

"I suppose she did. They wasn't too happy together sometimes. Doc didn't say nothin', but ya could tell. I known him since he was a little squirt, an' I could see that he'd changed. Not only his fancy city-talk, either – he was real sad, I think, in his heart. His ma and pa was already dead, and folks didn't welcome him back like we oughta have."

"You didn't want him in the Cove?" I exclaimed in astonishment. "But why?"

"It wasn't that we didn't want him..." Elizabeth sighed. "Ya see, Miz Christy, other people saw the change in him too. He was a city-man now, with his suits and fine accent and doctor-learnin'. Folks didn't trust him straight off. He weren't Neil anymore – he were Doc. Course, it didn't help that most everybody in the Cove knew what his marriage was like. I heerd a lot about them. You know how folks talk."

"They had...problems?" Miss Alice had hinted at a darker side to Neil's marriage.

"Lots of problems. She were a strange one. Sometimes she loved him, sometimes she didn't. It were equal parts love an' hate, I think. She were real moody, from what I heerd – sunshine one minnit, thunder-an-lightnin' the next; she plumb wore Doc out with it. Seems like a right shame."

My throat suddenly felt tight. "Did he love her very much?"

"I reckon Neil loved her somethin' fierce," she said honestly. "It were a sorrowful thing ter see how he kept a-tryin' ter please her. Always a-tryin', but she wasn't happy.

"Then thar was the baby...." Elizabeth looked down at her hands. "After that things started ter change – she seemed happier, and a mought less restless. I think she an' Neil was on their way ter finding somethin' good together. But then..." She shook her head. "Then the typhoid come. Missus MacNeill jest up an' died an' took the wee babe with her. Near to broke Neil's heart. He woulda made a fine pa."

A reflective silence followed – I was too preoccupied to speak, and Elizabeth kindly let me have a few minutes to collect myself. Between the two of us, the wash was soon finished, and as she bundled the clothing into the baskets, she finally broke the silence. "I reckon I'll see you soon, Miz Christy. Swing by again so we can talk more 'bout the readin' lessons. Thanks fer helpin' with the laundry."

Tactfully, she left me to my thoughts; I waved goodbye and sat for another hour at the edge of the river, listening to the water and mulling over all that I had learned. I was glad that Elizabeth had told me. I ached at the thought of Neil losing so much, but it only strengthened my resolve to never take him for granted. If by some chance Neil became my husband, I wouldn't make the same mistakes Margaret had. I would embrace whatever role was there for me, whether it was friend, lover, wife, or mother, and by God, I would never regret it.

Never.

* * *

A/N:_ Hey, hey! We're almost to the end now -- just need to tie up some fairly large loose ends. *coughweddingcough* ;)_

_Thanks to everybody who has bothered to read and/or review this. I've received some very thoughtful feedback in the past weeks, and it is deeply appreciated. Thanks again!_


	32. Chapter 32

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

_MY DEAR GEORGE,_

_I received your letter of June sixth in today's post – the mail has not been coming through regularly as the melting snow in the mountains has been making the high trails slick and impassible in parts. Still, I daresay Mr. Pentland was proud to be able to present us with the post at last, and your letter was well worth the wait._

_You ask how everything is here in Cutter Gap; have you forgotten already that asking that sort of question will lead to a hundred more answers than you want to read? Never mind it – I like to torture you with news. _

_The mission house has been repaired completely – the men did a job well done, the staircase is new as well, since Miss Alice feared that the support beams could have been compromised by the fire. The new rooms look very well indeed; Mrs. Iverson was kind enough to have some of her own furnishings brought in to replace all that was lost. We were blessed to have escaped with so few of our things ruined – what is gone can be replaced easily. Please do thank Daddy again for sending those books._

_In other news, Mrs. McHone and I had our inaugural ladies' reading class last week. It was held over in Miss Alice's cabin – everyone loves how homey and comfortable her cabin is. I thought the turnout was very good: five ladies, in addition to Mrs. McHone and myself. The women are all at varying levels of education; some I believe have never held a book, let alone read one, while Elizabeth Holcombe and Sadie Teague already have the alphabet learned in whole. All of them, however, are willing to be taught, and they seem excited for the opportunity. Mrs. McHone was pleased to be able to share her knowledge, and I think that made me happiest. She has become such a dear friend to me. _

_School has been dismissed for the summer working spell, but oddly enough, I find myself even busier than before. There is never a dull moment here – just an hour ago, Burl Allen came up to the house with a fishing hook through his hand. Miss Alice was able to remove it without much trouble, but I hope he will a little more careful next time. I seem to recall a time when __you__ ended up on the wrong side of a hook. _

_But tell me, George, how you have been. Mother said you joined a new league, but she was frustratingly short on particulars. When will you play? Will you travel with the team at all? Let me know when you play your first game. Out of all the things in Asheville – apart from you, of course – I think I miss watching those baseball games the most!_

_Fortunately for you, I have to be at the O'Teales in a half-hour, so I bid you goodbye for now. Write soon, and give my love to our parents._

_Your sister,_

_Christy_

– _Since you asked so slyly in your letter, I'll have you know that Dr. M and I are doing perfectly well, thank you very much. – C.H._

_

* * *

  
_

BIG SPOON CREEK was swollen with mountain runoff, and Neil had assured me that such conditions were ideal for catching trout. I hoped he was right, since there was no other reason I was willing to slog through the toe-numbing water only to stand there for an hour holding a pole like a dimwit – and on my first free afternoon in a week!

Oh, who was I fooling? As long as Neil was there, I would have gone anywhere. I drew the line at actually fishing, though; instead I sat on the bank, skirts hitched up to my knees and my feet dangling in the river. It was fairly unladylike, but I suspected Neil didn't mind, if his admiring glances were any indication.

It had been nearly a fortnight since we'd been able to spend several consecutive hours in each other's company. My usual chores, lesson plans, house calls, and the women's reading class were taking up the majority of my time. Not that I cared, of course – I enjoyed being busy. Still, it had been too long since I had had Neil to myself.

I watched as he moved further out into the river, hoping for a larger catch. He had already collected more than enough for lunch, but he was determined to keep at it until he caught something better. I didn't mind waiting, since Neil fishing was endlessly amusing. The expressions he made were especially fun. He scowled when a fish slipped by the hook; his brow would wrinkle in concentration before he cast out, and when he caught one, boyish triumph glowed on his face. My favorite, however, was the rare occasion that the fish managed to wriggle away before he could reel in. A delightfully sour look would overtake him, and he would open his mouth before remembering at the last moment that I was sitting a few yards away, and then he would sheepishly swallow back a curse.

He tried, he really did.

I tucked my knees up against my chest, wiggling my toes to make sure all ten of them were present and accounted for. It amazed me that the mountain people could be in the water so long without feeling the cold.

Neil was still walking upriver, searching for precisely the right spot; I was struck again by how lithe and graceful he was for such a large man.

As if God had heard my inner monologue and decided to play a practical joke, Neil chose that exact moment to take a step backwards and slip, disappearing under the water with a mighty splash. He flailed back to the surface before I had a chance to become alarmed, sputtering as he staggered to his feet. He stared at me with wide eyes, cheeks flushed pink, hair dripping pathetically over his face. I took one look at him and burst into laughter.

I shouldn't have laughed, I know, but his face was too much. I bent double, howling like a crazy woman. His face was dark red by now, clashing outrageously with his hair, but I couldn't seem to stop giggling. He shifted awkwardly, seemingly torn between embarrassment and indignation, but he started back toward the shore with slow, deliberate movements. By the time he was close enough that I spotted the glint in his eye, it was too late.

He swept his arm out, sending a spray of icy water directly on top of me. I shrieked, momentarily stunned, and in my moment of weakness, he drenched me again, laughing so hard his shoulders were shaking.

Recovering my spirit, I tried to splash him back, but the length of his arms guaranteed that I was going to end up as wet as he was. Eventually I cried surrender, and we collapsed side-by-side on the bank, soaked through, out of breath, and giggling like children.

"I can't believe you did that," I gasped out. "I thought you were a gentleman, Neil MacNeill."

"You started it."

"So I did. Forgive me?" Smirking, I rolled over and kissed him in a gesture of reconciliation that quickly developed into something vastly more interesting.

I had been kissed before, by David and by a girlhood beau or two, but they had been chaste and relatively unaffecting kisses – they were for curiosity's sake, to express childish affection and the stirrings of hopeful infatuation. I had enjoyed them, but the physical contact had never been backed by genuine and powerful emotion. The passion had not been there.

But now....now my head whirled with it. He kissed me softly at first, careful and tender, his mouth warm and gently insistent. I allowed myself to be drawn into the sweetness of it before moving further into his embrace, wrapping my arms about his waist; I pulled back a little, looking curiously up at him, anxious for his reaction.

His eyes lit with warmth as he watched me, still slightly flushed but smiling. I burrowed back in his arms, and I felt his fingers at my back, pulling me closer to him. I rested against him for a brief moment, but I became restless and reached up to draw his head down. This time I kissed him, my sudden shyness gone; I touched his cheek, his hair, the pulse that leapt just under his jaw. He held me with exquisite tenderness, and I cradled my face into the hollow of his shoulder.

God, I loved this man.

* * *

THE SECOND OFFICIAL meeting of the ladies' reading group commenced that next Tuesday, once again at Miss Alice's; and although Sadie Teague was not able join us, I felt that thus far the gathering had been a success.

We were seated around the fireplace, just beside the large window overlooking the ridge. Some women had brought along their sewing and were mending while we talked. For my part, I was still attempting to knit, and although my work looked more like a misshapen lump than stockings, it was soothing to have something to keep my hands occupied.

Opal and I took turns reading from the Bible, and once in a while, I would write an especially poignant passage on the classroom slate that had been brought in. The ladies seemed to make the connections between the letters and the sounds with astounding rapidity, and most of them had memorized the alphabet after our first meeting. It seemed that the children weren't the only quick learners.

The meetings were comfortable, not awkward in the least. I had been concerned that the women might think it uppity of me to be instructing people much older and more experienced than I, but they took the difference in our relative ages gracefully, without any apparent embarrassment.

Since it was a warm afternoon, I opened the window to let in the breeze. I loved summer in Cutter Gap – everything was bright and vivid and _alive_. It made the miserable winter worth it, just to see the beauty of the mountains now.

Opal had been reading steadily out of Corinthians, but her mild voice stuttered to a halt. "Miz Christy?" Her finger hovered carefully on the page; I bent to see what word she was gesturing to.

"Oh – _cymbal_," I said. "A cymbal is a piece of percussion...a musical instrument we use in the city." I motioned with my hands, trying to illustrate the foreign concept. "They're brass plates about this wide, and a person presses them together to make a sound." I could see that my explanation hadn't been very clear, so I used a poorly-drawn example on the slate instead. "See, you smash these together, and it makes a loud crashing noise."

"Like a drum?" Liz Ann asked.

"In a way – they're often played along with drums."

"Cain't 'magine that would make fer very purty music."

"It isn't too nice by itself, but cymbals are generally played along with other instruments."

"Seems to have other uses too," Elizabeth mused, peering down at the slate. "Reckon John's head'd fit 'tween those two bits thar? I could box his ears from both sides if I had one o' these."

There was laughter from all the ladies at that.

"Opal, why don't you read on?" I asked, after we had caught our breath.

"Shore thing."

I listened to Opal with a combination of pleasure and pride. The opportunity had been a good one; I wanted her to feel useful and needed, considering all that she had struggled through this year.

Isaak's attitude seemed better of late – Bird's-Eye's disappearance and the mission fire had sapped him of his desire to fight. I doubted that he had recovered wholly or that his resentment was any less fierce, but he had done well in school, and Opal seemed encouraged by his progress.

Still, I believed my friend was troubled. Though she was grieving for Tom, it couldn't have been easy for her to watch her former sweetheart suffer. She felt as though she were to blame for not being able to love him the way he had once loved her, that her choice to take Tom over him had led to his fall from grace. Perhaps Opal could have saved him from himself – we would never know – but it was fruitless to wonder how life would have changed.

As if she felt my eyes on her, Opal glanced up and smiled, a smile that was somehow both weary and content. I looked over at the circle of cheerful faces, marveling again how people so full of sorrow could find something to laugh about, to celebrate.

In these mountains, there was plenty of tragedy, tragedy that had sent Neil spiraling into hopelessness, frustrated David, and had nearly had me running back home. It was a harsh and unforgiving land and its people could be equally hard, but this – this was the reason I stayed. The happiness, when it was there, was so much sweeter. As Miss Alice had once said, all I had to do was hold on to joy.

* * *

_A/N: Yep, we're starting to wind down. I hope you enjoyed the little bit of Christy/Neil fluff -- they haven't had much "alone time" so far. Gilari, the wedding will be coming up fairly soon. Neil has to get around to proposing first; knowing him, it's bound to be done awkwardly, so brace yourselves. ;) Oh, and I don't have any intentions of a sequel either.  
_

_My endless thanks to all of you who have faithfully read and reviewed this story! You guys are amazing!_

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	33. Chapter 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

IN THE PAST I had often wondered what made the mountain people stay here when there were nearby towns and cities where they could find jobs, clean homes, and proper care facilities for their children. Eventually I had discovered the allure of the Smokies, but even now I needed reminding once and a while that beauty could be found anywhere where God was present – and that blessings, however uncertain at first, came in all sorts of guises.

One sunny July afternoon, Neil and I were by the river, lazing in the grass and picking off the remains of a picnic lunch Mrs. Iverson had been gracious enough to pack for us. It was a lovely day, but I wasn't enjoying the simple pleasures as much as I generally did. It had been a very difficult week for all of us: Granny Barclay, bless her heart, had finally passed on, slipping away peacefully in her sleep.

Despite our relief that she would no longer be suffering from the heart troubles that had plagued her for the last year, the prevailing mood in the Cove was one of quiet grief. Neil had told me once that now that the elders were all dying, their knowledge and histories were vanishing along with them. As old and feeble as they had become, they were valued members of the community, treasured for their connection to the past; the past was something the highlanders kept close.

Miss Alice and I had 'dolled' Granny up before her funeral; as I had combed the woman's silver hair back into a bun, I was reminded forcibly of Opal's baby. I remembered how earnestly Opal had thanked me for giving her little girl a ribbon, and how her gratitude had crushed me. How awful it was to watch this kind of grieving, the grieving done in the home. The wild lamentations and speeches over the grave weren't half as heartbreaking as the silent pain of family as they readied the body and said their private goodbyes.

Granny had left without any regrets, Reverend Iverson told me. She had been sick for so long that it was a blessing for her to leave her tired body and join the husband and children who had gone before her.

I turned in the grass, letting the sun warm my back, and looked over at Neil where he lay stretched out a proper distance from me. He looked so relaxed and comfortable that it was difficult to interrupt.

As if he felt the weight of my gaze, he smiled, eyes still closed, and said, "What's on your mind?"

I was a little put out. "How did you know that I wanted to talk?"

"When you have something you really want to talk about, you don't talk at all." He grinned and opened his eyes. "What have you been dwelling on, Christy?"

"Death." Until the word slipped past my lips, I hadn't even realized it myself.

"That's understandable. You've seen quite a lot of it this year." He frowned, obviously remembering how close I had come to dying myself.

Completely without warning, I felt a wave of frustration welling up. "That's exactly it!" I burst out. "I've seen too much. Neil, how can you stand it? How can you bear watching people you love die like that? Like Granny this week, or Opal's baby, or Fairlight! I can't understand how you do this year after year."

He rolled onto his side and held out his hand. "Come here."

I scooted over to him, tucking myself under the heavy anchor of his arm; he squeezed me tight and then loosened his grip, letting me rest in the crook of his shoulder. "To be honest, I don't understand it either. Before you came here I was a different man." He paused, trying to find the words. "I don't know quite how to say this, Christy. I had tried all my life to do something useful for my people; I felt the weight of responsibility for my neighbors and friends since I was the one to have the knowledge and training to help." He shrugged. "I suppose you could say I had a bit of a God-complex – when I succeeded in saving a patient, the credit went to me. But when I _lost_ a patient...well, the blame fell on me too.

"Now I know how mistaken I was, but then...you can imagine how I felt."

I nodded, my throat tight. I didn't like to think about Neil being lonely and full of self-hatred.

"Death is a part of life in these mountains," he said, after a long silence. "I grew up knowing that life and death were inextricably linked; you couldn't have one without the other."

"I didn't know," I admitted. "I knew that people died – my father's parents both died when I was young – but for me death was so..._sanitized_. My grandfather was laid out for the funeral, and I remember seeing his face, but it didn't trouble me because it looked like he was just asleep. I didn't think about what would happen to his body when it was buried, or what had happened to him when he actually died. I didn't understand what I looked like – I didn't realize how ugly death could be." I blinked back tears.

"It isn't pretty," Neil agreed, leaning back to gaze up at the clouds, "but it's necessary. After...after Margaret...died, Alice told me that life was meaningless without death, because to die meant that temporary life was over at last and eternal life would begin. I didn't think much of it then. It still isn't easy to lose someone, but I can see a purpose in it now."

I pressed my cheek against his chest. "Thank you."

I felt him smile. "You're very welcome."

* * *

THE VERY NEXT morning, Miss Alice was greeted at the door by Will Beck, whose mood was fluctuating wildly between joy and terror. "Ruby Mae's a-havin' the baby!" he shouted the instant she stepped out onto the porch.

Opal and I heard the commotion from the kitchen, where she was teaching me to make honeyed cornbread. Wiping my hands on my apron, I peeked out into the hall to see Will wringing his hat and bouncing on his heels while Miss Alice went to fetch her bag. "Is Ruby Mae feeling all right?" I asked, knowing that the baby wasn't due for another three weeks.

"Feisty as a polecat," he told me, attempting to grin but failing as worry wrinkled his brow. "She's been hurtin' all night. Says she'll have the baby soon, so she tole me to come git Miz Alice an' you."

"Me?"

"Not Miz Christy," Opal said firmly, coming out of the kitchen to shake her finger at Will. "Birthin'-room is no place fer an unwed gal. Miz Alice'll do jest fine by Ruby Mae, Will – don't you fret."

An argument from Opal McHone was a rare thing. "Opal, I can help; I've cared for babies."

"Reckon you ain't never seen one come out afore though," she said dryly. "It's not yer place, Christy. Let Miz Alice do her work."

Miss Alice's footsteps padded lightly down the stairs as she returned with her supplies and a pile of thick blankets. Will, after looking apologetically at Opal, came up to her directly. "Miz Alice, kin Miz Christy come with us? Ruby Mae asked fer her; it would make her feel better ter have her thar with her."

Miss Alice studied me for a moment before nodding. "If Miss Huddleston is willing to go, of course she can come."

Will's expression was one of pure relief, but Opal sighed. "Miz Alice, you know folks won't like it."

"Whether they like it or not is not my problem, nor is it Miss Huddleston's. If Ruby Mae wants Christy there with her, then she'll come."

We left as soon as the horses were ready; I clung close to Buttons's saddle to keep my balance, since Miss Alice had set us off at a faster pace than I was accustomed to. From the urgency in her manner, I suspected that Ruby Mae was progressing quickly in her labor. Will ran alongside us, asking Miss Alice question after question with an anxiety that was palpable. Again I marveled at how young the Becks were – parents before they were even eighteen.

It didn't take long to reach the Becks' little cabin, which had been built on the ridge behind the mission house. A sudden chill ran down my spine as the sound of Ruby Mae sobbing filtered through the crooked window; with a look of fright, Will scrambled past us and darted into the house to his wife.

I looked to Miss Alice with wide eyes, but she seemed perfectly calm. "Will you bring in those blankets, Christy? We'll need to keep the baby warm."

I followed her into the cabin and took a step back when a blast of heat struck me. A fire was roaring in the grate, and I could see Ruby Mae buried under a pile of quilts, her face flushed and dripping with sweat. She was still crying as Will held her hand and smoothed back her limp copper hair helplessly; I stepped close to the bedside, but she didn't seem to be aware that she had company.

Miss Alice was all business, throwing open the little window and tossing a pail of water over the fire.

"What'd ye do that fer?" Will demanded. "Ma says laborin' gals need the heat..."

"I think Ruby Mae would be more comfortable in a cooler room; we have blankets for the baby to ensure that it's kept warm. For the delivery, though, there doesn't need to be an extra heat; that will only put more stress on her body."

Miz Alice came over to sit on the edge of the cornhusk mattress, across from Will. "Ruby Mae," she said clearly, her tone light and soothing, "may I see how far along your baby is? I think you don't have much longer to go, from what Will tells me."

Ruby Mae finally reacted when Miss Alice began peeling away the layers of sweat-soaked quilts. "I'm gonna die," she howled, grasping handfuls of her nightshirt, which I noticed with some discomfort was saturated with a light brown liquid. "The baby's gonna git stopped up inside me, and I'm gonna die!"

"Ruby Mae Beck, that is no way to talk. Now you need to have some faith and be brave for your husband and your child. Do you understand?"

The tears were still rolling down her cheeks, but she nodded. "Yes'm."

Ruby Mae's labor was long and difficult, but Miss Alice assured both Will and I that it was normal for a new mother. I tried to stay out of the way, wiping Ruby Mae's face with cold water and holding her hand when the contractions started, but I could see why Will felt so helpless. It hurt to watch her in such pain, knowing that there was nothing we could do to stop it.

For all my bravado to Opal, it was an awkward experience for me too; my mother would die of shock at the thought of me attending a birth. I hadn't been exactly sure how childbirth took place either, cursed as I was with the ignorance of a city girl – but that afternoon cleared me of all my misconceptions. It was an awful thing to watch, and as much as I loved children, I wondered whether I could be courageous enough to go through this in order to have them.

Of course, Miss Alice's mantra that beauty could be found in every situation was to prove true once again.

After six endless hours of labor, Ruby Mae finally produced a red-faced, squirming little girl that came out screaming as loudly as her mother. All the lines of pain and stress on Ruby Mae's face evaporated the instant she saw the baby in Miss Alice's arms – the look of unconditional love she wore was one of the most poignant things I had ever seen in my life.

Will was brought in from his outdoor vigil as soon as the baby was swaddled, and he marveled at the tiny fingers and toes of his daughter; I saw him surreptitiously wipe away the tears, and I smiled to myself. Mountain men and their fear of open emotion...

The first order of business was a quick bath in heated water and some lessons for Ruby Mae about nursing. I had expected to be embarrassed by the latter, but there was something so intimate and special about the way Ruby Mae cradled her baby to her breast that I had no reason to be uncomfortable. It was natural, and it was beautiful.

Miss Alice and I cleaned up to give the new parents some time to bond with each other and the baby but Ruby Mae, tired and exhilarated, waved me over to admire her girl. "Ain't she the purtiest thing, Miz Christy? Lookit her little nose and those ears – an' I bet she'll have Will's eyes too."

"She's gorgeous. Have you decided on a name yet?"

"Her front name is Esther. I like that story from the Good Book real well, so I thought it would be a fine name for the baby if it were a girl. Her second name is Jean, fer Will's granny."

"Esther Jean," Miss Alice repeated. "A proud and lovely name."

Ruby Mae beamed with pleasure and dropped a light kiss on the baby's wrinkled forehead.

I had just finished heating up some stew when I heard hooves clipping down the pathway to the cabin. I opened the door to find Neil walking up the porch stairs; he smiled at me before I ushered him into the room.

"I hear congratulations are in order," he said cheerfully, walking over to the roughly-hewn crib by the bed. "You have a bonny daughter, Will."

I watched him as he tenderly held the little girl after the examination, singing softly to calm her. Soft awe crept into my heart as I saw how he cradled her, as though were a rare treasure. Neil loved children -- I had seen how well he interacted with them -- but somehow the sight of him holding that tiny new life was especially precious to me. He stayed awhile longer, consulting with Miss Alice about the delivery and any possible complications – she decided to stay the night in case Ruby Mae should need any medical attention. Neil assured me that it was just a precaution since this was her first child.

"And you – you're dead on your feet, Christy. Let me take you home."

I agreed, but only because I _felt_ dead on my feet. The stress of the labor and the wild ride to the Becks' cabin had left me disheveled and exhausted. He didn't look particularly fresh either – I wondered whether he'd been traveling the back-trails earlier in the day.

After kissing Ruby Mae and Esther goodnight, I clambered up onto Buttons and set out. It was a good thing my horse knew the path so well, because I could hardly keep my eyes open long enough to steer her in the right direction.

I heard Neil chuckle, and then his hands were around my hips, pulling me off Buttons and onto Charlie's back. I linked my arms around his waist to keep from falling off. "Ruby Mae did well today," I mumbled, half-asleep. "I think she and Esther will be okay, don't you?"

"Hmm," he agreed, his mind clearly elsewhere.

I sighed and nestled my cheek against the curve of his back, closing my eyes. It had been a long day, and I itched to free myself from the uncomfortably tight lacings of my skirt. I let my thoughts wander – I had a good deal to do tomorrow: we were due for another reading session with the ladies, and I had planned in another visit to the O'Teales....

Neil abruptly reined Charlie in. I jolted forward, bumping my nose against his shoulder – _that_ woke me up. I whimpered and felt the smarting appendage carefully, relieved that I hadn't broken it. "Neil? Why did we stop? Is something wrong with Charlie?" I pinched the bridge of my nose to stop the stinging and then lowered my hand.

He continued to stare straight ahead. Charlie pawed the ground uncertainly, and I was about to poke Neil impatiently in the back when he twisted around in the saddle to look at me hopefully. "Christy, will you marry me?"

It was the most unromantic proposal ever tendered. We were both sweaty, filthy, hot, and tired; our clothes were rumpled and stained; he stunk of ether, and I didn't even want to know what I smelled like.

He tugged at the hair at his nape. "Uh....well, what do you say?"

"What do I say?" I gasped, recovering my voice. "What am I supposed to say? Neil, look at us!"

He cast a quizzical look down at his shirt and over at me and then shrugged.

I screwed my eyes shut and sighed. "What am I supposed to tell our children when they want to know how you asked me to marry you? That we spent an idyllic evening attending the birth of the daughter of one of my students and then you proposed to me _on a horse!?_"

"Children?" His face lit up. "Does that mean 'yes?'"

I glared at him, disgruntled, until the ridiculousness of it all struck me. Here I was, dirty and sleepy, my hair hanging in damp strands all down my neck and face. And Neil – his tie was gone, his collar sticking up in the back, his wild hair nearly standing on end. I snorted, buried my face against his jacket, and then started laughing like a madwoman.

"Oh, Neil," I choked out, hardly able to catch my breath. "I love you."

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_A/N: Woo! It finally happened! Yeah, not sentimental at all, sorry. Neil IS a hillbilly man at heart, after all. ;)  
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_Thanks so much for all your reviews and favorites -- drop me a line, tell me what you think! Just three or four more chapters left, I think. I'd love to hear from you all.  
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	34. Chapter 34

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

THE BIRTH OF Esther Jean Beck was big news in the Cove – babies were always the cause of much fanfare and celebration in a community where the continuation of life was a primary focus.

Ruby Mae and Will could not have been prouder parents. Every time I saw the new papa, he was sporting a grin that spanned from ear to ear, and Ruby Mae, despite her exhaustion from early morning feedings, was glowing with triumph. She was sure that there had never been a better baby – Esther was prettier, smarter, and stronger than any other little girl in the Cove, or so she insisted.

I spent much of my free time over at the Becks' cabin to help with the housework when I could, but my real motivation was to see more of Esther. I couldn't believe how beautiful she was, and the more time I spent around her, the more I felt the stirrings of a new longing that I couldn't quite understand. When she cried, I felt a tug in my own heart.

The timing of Esther's arrival was particularly helpful to me – it diverted much of the attention that would have fallen on Neil and I. The engagement wasn't kept a secret for long, since I hadn't been able to resist telling Ruby Mae, and once word was slipped to her, it spread to all of Cutter Gap within a week. Her gossiping abilities were especially amazing in this instance, as she was still confined to bedrest.

Because there were other things to celebrate, the news had been received fairly quietly; my schoolchildren came on special visits to give me a hug and wish me joy, and their parents seemed equally pleased for both of us. It was encouraging – I had always wished for acceptance from these people, and in their own way, they had given it to me. There could be no more complete way of being taken into the community than to marry one of their own.

Acceptance was something which I hoped my family would extend to Neil in return. I was anxious -- as kindly as my father had viewed Neil, I doubted that he would as understanding when the situation involved marriage. My mother's response was not difficult to imagine either. George would probably be the only one who would honestly be happy for me.

I wanted to make the telephone call to Asheville by myself, but Neil insisted that he be there to talk to Father and ask for my hand properly. I admired his determination to do things the right way, but I much would have preferred to smooth over the situation first. Neil had been turned away too often simply because he lived in the mountains, and I didn't want him to receive the same treatment again. My parents were fine, decent people who loved me very much, but they weren't without prejudices too.

Nevertheless, I didn't think the matter was worth fighting over, so when I dialed the operator to connect to my parents' line, Neil was there standing next to me.

"John Huddleston, please," I told the operator. "Huddleston residence in Asheville."

A moment later my father came over the line, sounding tired. "Hello?"

"Daddy, it's me."

"Christy, how are you? What a pleasure it is to hear your voice – you haven't called in a while. Is something wrong?"

Since my illness, my father always assumed that a telephone call heralded news of the next catastrophe. I couldn't blame him, but I certainly hoped he wouldn't categorize my news today as a 'catastrophe' either.

"I'm fine, Daddy. In fact, I'm better than fine." I looked over at Neil, and he nodded. "Daddy, Dr. MacNeill is here, and he'd like to talk to you."

"Why...of course, Girlie." I could hear the confusion in Father's voice.

"Here he is," I said, handing the receiver to Neil.

"Good morning, Mr. Huddleston...Pardon? No, no – she's quite healthy. Nothing wrong in that respect...I wondered if I might have a word with you about something important." He shuffled from one foot to another, the only sign of nervousness he'd betrayed all morning. "No, sir....Actually, I do. I've asked your daughter to do me the honor of becoming my wife."

I sank into a nearby chair, my eyes glued to Neil's face. His expression, however, gave no hint as to what was being said on the other end.

"Of course, sir," he murmured. "No, I do understand....I can only promise you that I can provide for her...yes...and that she and – God willing – any children of ours will not suffer for the location of our home...Yes, I fully intend on having her participate in that decision. It will be her home as well as mine..."

There was a long pause. Neil's fingers gripped the telephone-box cord tightly. "Again, I can only assure you of my complete devotion to Christy...I know...She is old enough to choose her own husband without your consent, I believe, but neither of us wish to marry without your blessing. I respect your feelings on this issue, but I won't be convinced otherwise."

Another interminable pause.

"Yes, of course. You may ask her yourself if you're still concerned. Thank you, Mr. Huddleston. Good day." Neil stepped away from the telephone and held the receiver out to me; I took it with trembling hands.

"Daddy?"

"Are you quite sure that you're making a wise decision, Christy?" Father sounded grave and serious.

I didn't hesitate. "Yes. I love him very much – I can't even begin to describe how much. I know it's not what you or Mother want for me, but it's what_ I _want."

Father cleared his throat. "You do understand what this means for you?"

"Of course I do. Daddy, I've lived in Cutter Gap for well over a year; I'm going into this marriage with open eyes. I know what I'm getting," I looked over pointedly at Neil, "and I love it all."

He was silent, and then I heard him sigh. "When were you thinking of having the wedding?"

My body was weak with relief. "Soon." I felt Neil's hands running up and down my arms in a soothing motion. "We want to be married as soon as we can."

"You do realize you'll have to tell your mother too, don't you?"

I laughed shakily. "I know. I'll talk to her now, if she's at home."

"She is." He took a deep breath. "Dr. MacNeill is a good man, and I do trust him. Congratulations, Girlie."

I blinked away tears. "Thank you, Daddy. I love you."

"Love you too," he said gruffly.

Mother was less gracious. At least a half-hour was wasted on her part as she tried to convince me that I was acting on a foolish impulse. I said everything I could to make her understand, but nothing could take away her anger or earnest distress. Finally, in exasperation, I said goodbye and hung up; it would be better to wait until we had calmed down.

Neil comforted me as best he could while I complained about my unrelenting mother. "Your father gave his blessing," he told me gently. "Give your mother a little more time and she'll come around."

"But she shouldn't have to 'come around,'" I said bitterly. "If you lived in Asheville and had a successful practice of your own, she wouldn't hesitate in giving us her blessing. It's not fair."

"It isn't, but when has that ever stopped you?" He bent down to kiss me sweetly. "It will be better soon, don't fret."

* * *

THAT NIGHT, BEFORE I went to bed, Miss Alice handed me a large package wrapped in brown paper.

"What is this?"

She smiled. "Open it."

I carefully slit open the flaps and pulled out a gorgeous white shawl, embroidered with lilies and crowned by a gold-thread fringe. "It's beautiful," I breathed, running my fingertips along the exquisite satin.

"It belonged to my grandmother. My mother wore it when she married my father, and it was given to me for my wedding day as well. Since that day never came, I've had it stored away for a special occasion.

"I offered it to Margaret after she married Neil, but she thought it too plain for her tastes. I hope you will accept it." Taking the shawl from my hands, she draped it delicately on my shoulders. "There. It looks lovely on thee."

I fought back a rush of emotion. "Miss Alice, I don't know what to say...Thank you so much."

"Thank _you_," she said, stroking the hair from my face. "What a gift you have been to this place. To Neil – to me. A shawl can't express my gratitude for what you have given us all. Welcome home, dear."

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_A/N: This was just a mini-chapter to push things along for Ch. 35. Squee! The wedding is fast approaching. Any speculation about what might happen? Do you think Bird's-Eye will show up again? How about David? Hmm. . . Tell me what you think, and if you guess right, you get a virtual cookie. ; )_

_Thanks for your reviews!  
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	35. Chapter 35

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The next two months passed by in a storm of wedding preparations. The Mission house became overcrowded with boxes of matrimonial paraphernalia sent from relatives and friends and my mother, who, after recovering from her shock and disappointment, leapt into the planning wholeheartedly.

Normally I would have welcomed the help, but Mother had apparently decided that since she had had no say in the selection of my bridegroom, the wedding itself was under her jurisdiction. Nothing could have been more frustrating, and days that should have been spent pleasurably with Neil were instead wasted away on telephone arguments with my very determined mother.

According to her, nothing was being done correctly. First, the wedding should be held in Asheville, where my old friends could come and share in the day. I repeatedly refused to change the location, though Neil assured me that he didn't care where we held the ceremony itself. When I wouldn't budge on that point, she harped about the reception or my trousseau or the wedding gown I had chosen – there was always something wrong, something that wasn't good enough for me.

I loved my mother, truly I did, but I often ended a long day of negotiations with the overwhelming desire to run away with Neil out of pure spite. Logically, I knew that was no way to start a marriage; I would forever regret hurting my parents, and Neil would never consent to elopement anyway, no matter the circumstances. He knew firsthand how it tarred a relationship.

Besides, I wanted to do this properly. I wanted to become Neil's wife and share my joy with family, friends, and my children. It was important to him too, so there was not any chance of me jeopardizing our day, even if Mother irritated me to no end. That didn't stop me from fantasizing about it, however.

Thankfully, I was given some unexpected support from my brother. When he happened to be home during one of Mother's telephone calls, he often talked with me afterward to cool me down.

"Christy, you only have to do this once," he said, after I had finished fuming about Mother's latest demand. "Just tolerate it for a few more weeks, and then you're free."

"That doesn't help, George. She's making me absolutely insane." I groaned and sank down into a chair by the telephone. "I don't know what to say to her anymore. Every time we talk, there's something else that I have to do: I need to call the seamstress and check on my gown, I need to invite Aunt Daisy or some other relative I haven't spent more than a few days with in my entire life, or I need to make certain that the ceremony is exactly half an hour long, since the food won't keep outside for longer than that, or..."

He laughed. "Sis, it's a good thing that you're marrying a doctor, because you're going to have a heart attack."

I was too tense to find his remark humorous. "This may seem hilarious to you, but I'm not laughing here. I can't do this anymore, George. I can't."

"Now stop it right there. I didn't know my sister was a coward."

"_Excuse _me?"

"You heard what I said. Look, you're Christy Huddleston, aren't you? The stubborn-as-heck girl who got on a train to teach school in the middle of nowhere after hearing one sermon from a traveling preacher? The girl who lived through fires and feuds and typhoid fever? Now you say you want to quit just because Mother won't stop hounding you about wedding decorations?"

I was struck with shame. "You're so right. I'm sorry, George."

"That's better. Stick with it, Prissy, and it'll be over before you know it."

He always made me feel better; I smiled, imagining his self-satisfied expression. "And what makes you so determined to keep this wedding on schedule? What interest do you have in weddings? I thought they were for _girls_."

"I want some of that cake," he laughed, "so you'd better follow through."

"I'll save you the biggest slice." A blur of movement caught my eye, and I reflexively turned to look behind me.

Bird's-Eye Taylor was standing in the threshold.

The telephone receiver slipped from my hands as I let out a muffled shriek, falling back against the wall.

"Christy?" I could hear George's voice shouting from the dangling receiver. "Christy, are you there?"

I kept my eyes trained on Bird's-Eye, and weak relief spread through me when I spotted his shotgun perched outside on the stoop. Seeing my frightened face, he took a few steps back, taking off his hat and wringing it in his dirty hands.

With shaking fingers, I groped beside me for the phone cord and put it back up to my ear. George was still talking on the other end, his voice sharp with concern. "Christy, what happened? What's wrong?"

"I'm fine. I have to go." Without waiting for a reply, I hung up the telephone and faced Mr. Taylor. "What can I do for you?" I was proud of how steady I sounded.

"Nuthin'," he said, staring down at the floorboards. "Dinnit mean ter scare you."

"It's quite alright. I'm not hurt." The rush of nerves slowly retreated as I took in his bedraggled appearance and ashy complexion. The scars from his impromptu surgery were limned in angry red along his cheek and forehead, and he seemed to lean his weight on his left leg.

"Would you like to sit down? There's some coffee on the stove."

"Nah. Is Miz Alice hereabouts?"

"I'm afraid she isn't."

A muscle in his cheek twitched. "Weel, can ye tell her I've been thinkin' bout what she said, and I'm..." He hesitated. "I'm sorry fer runnin' off like that, without a word to nobody. She done right by me, and I'm beholden."

"It was no trouble. We're always here to help."

Mr. Taylor cleared his throat. "Tell her...tell her that I've been down in Lyleton, in the jailhouse."

I wasn't quick enough to hide my astonishment. "The jailhouse?"

"Yup." He shifted uncomfortably. "Done turned myself in. Sheriff gave me five months, reckon 'cause I came forward, but he'll keep me fer five years iffen I do it again." I opened my mouth, but he cut me off. "Look, jest tell Miz Alice that, hear?"

"Of course I will. Are you sure you don't want to wait? You can tell her yourself."

"No. No, I'll head out. Ain't welcome hereabouts no more." Replacing his hat, he started to back out of the room. "Oh. I heerd you and Doc was fixin' to be wed. Best wishes, Miz Christy."

"Thank you."

He jerked his head in a stiff nod and limped out onto the porch. I watched him retreat back into the tangle of forest, and I wondered what had brought him back to the Cove. Five months in jail...I could hardly believe he had done that. And then something else occurred to me: Opal. Did Opal know he was back in the Cove?

Without a moment's hesitation, I took the coffee pot off the stove, scribbled a note for Mrs. Iverson, and hurried toward the McHone cabin.

I found Vincent and Sam Houston in the yard, playing with a makeshift bow and arrow. The string of dead rabbits Sam Houston had slung over his shoulder made me cringe, and I had to remind myself that developing hunting skills was essential for young boys out here.

"Howdy, Miz Christy!" Vincent scrambled over to wrap his arms around my legs. "You ain't been out here to see Ma fer a long time."

Actually, it had been about a week, but his words made me feel guilty; I was so preoccupied with my wedding plans that I hadn't been visiting as much as I usually did. "I know. Is your mother busy?"

"No, jest sittin' with Toot."

"Miz Christy, lookit here!" Sam Houston lifted up one of his prizes for me to admire; I tried not to look into those lifeless black eyes.

"That's...um...wonderful. It looks like you've had a good time hunting. I'll go in and see Opal, and you have fun, okay?"

"Okay," they chorused, taking off in pursuit of more prey. I shuddered once before heading up to the cabin.

Opal was in the rocking chair with a sleeping Toot, stroking the boy's white-blond hair back from his forehead; I could see droplets of sweat gathering at his forehead. She looked up as I came in and smiled.

"Is he feeling ill?" I whispered, coming to sit next to her.

"He's runnin' a fever. Doc says it's jest a summer cold." She kissed her son's cheek and rocked him back and forth.

"I'm sorry to hear that; I'll have to bring over some picture books for him to pass the time with. I know how dull lying in bed can be."

"He'd like that." She smiled over at me. "Yer looking fit to be tried, Miz Christy. Yer ma givin' you trouble?"

I sighed. "A little. Actually, I was talking to George today, but I had a visitor."

Her face softened. "You seen Bird's-Eye?"

"I did! Did he come to see you too?"

"Yup. He come this morning." She ducked her head. "Wanted ter tell me he'd done and served his time fer the moonshinin'. I'm real proud of him."

"Did Isaac see him too?" I asked delicately.

"Not this time, but I mean ter talk ter him if Bird's-Eye wants ter come around more often. Things cain't stay this way forever." She sighed. "It's good ter see you again too."

I took that as a sign that she was done with the subject of Mr. Taylor. "I'm sorry I've been away so long, Opal. I guess I've been easily distracted."

"Reckon I know what's been distractin' you. This mornin' Doc was sure happy. Never seen him smile so much." After a glance down at Toot, she leaned forward. "I've been meanin' ter talk with you 'bout somethin'."

Her tone confused me. She was serious, but there was a note of mischief there too. "What?" I asked cautiously.

"Weel, since yer ma won't be here until yer weddin' day, I thought I'd best give you a little advice, gal ter gal. Every bride ought ter know a bit about her weddin' night."

My cheeks were on fire. "Opal!"

"Now, there's no shame in that, Christy. You want to be ready fer Neil, don't you?"

"I can't believe you're talking about this," I moaned. "Really, I think I know quite enough."

She looked at me doubtfully, and I sighed. "Okay, maybe I don't know the _exact _logistics, but honestly, I think we'll manage..."

Opal clicked her tongue and patted my knee. "I jest won't feel right unless I make sure you're ready. Ye've got weddin' jitters already, I can tell." The wicked grin on her face told me that she was enjoying this too much. "Ye see, we give all brides a little teachin' here afore they get wed, so there's no shame in it."

Maybe there was no shame for her, but there certainly was plenty of it on my side. I'd grown somewhat accustomed to the earthier attitudes of the mountain people, but that didn't mean I personally was any more relaxed about sex. "I really appreciate the thought, Opal, but I think I know everything I need to know for now. I'm not a child." A memory of Neil telling me about 'riding the rail' popped into my head, and I felt my face grow hotter.

Opal laughed, but her expression was kind. "Christy, none of us want ye to be anythin' but happy on yer weddin' day, and that can only happen iffen yer prepared for _every_ part of the day."

She was making sense, as well as tapping into one of my deepest insecurities. I hadn't been deliberately thinking about what would happen on my wedding night, but that didn't stop me from being curious...or apprehensive. Pleasing my husband was important to me, and although I trusted that he knew what he was doing, I didn't want to fumble around blindly in return.

I swallowed and looked up at Opal. "What...what did you have in mind?"

"Nuthin' terrible." She checked Toot's temperature and stood, laying him in the loft to sleep. After pouring us some persimmon juice, she sat me down at the table and rubbed my arm reassuringly. "You tell me iffen ye want me ter stop."

It wasn't so bad. Opal spoke very frankly about what to expect, and I found myself listening closely, grasping for any bits of information that would bolster my confidence for the night. She confirmed that there would be some pain and a little blood, but that would be countered with pleasure if Neil was gentle and patient with me. Those were two qualities that Neil always seemed to possess, so I wasn't too worried on that account. Mostly my concern was about my own performance: the spectre of Margaret was hanging over my head. She had been a beautiful, sensual, bohemian woman, and I was...what? Thin and plain? What if I couldn't please Neil like she had? What if I couldn't please him at all?

Opal seemed amused at the question, as if there was some private joke behind it. "Miz Christy, there ain't any doubt that he'll be pleased. Menfolk is always pleased – it don't take much. If anythin', he ought ter be worryin' about you pleasin' him _too_ much."

"Why would that worry him?"

"Never you mind." She reached over to refill my cup, trying to hold back a grin. "Iffen you have more questions, you kin ask me any time."

"I'll do that." Strangely enough, I did feel more prepared, even if I doubted that my blush would ever fade.

"It's no trouble. Yer a good gal, and ye'll be givin' Neil the best kind of weddin' gift. Don't fret none about what he'll think. I bet he's frettin' plenty hisself."

Neil worrying about taking me to bed? That was something I couldn't imagine; he always seemed so calm and self-assured. "Why would he fret? He's not a...virgin." Even the word was difficult for me to say out loud. "He's done this before."

"Not fer several years, and never with someone like you. He's gonna worry about hurtin' you, or disappointin' you. He'll be jest as scared as you, I reckon, even if he don't show it."

That shouldn't have been comforting, but somehow it was. It put us on the same footing, in the same situation. Somehow we would work this out together. "Thank you, Opal."

"Anytime."

* * *

_A/N: Hee! Poor Christy. This chapter is dedicated to anyone who's ever had to go through "the talk." Which means everyone, most likely. I thought Opal would be the best choice for a confidante here, although we may see a few awkward exchanges between Mrs. Huddleston and her daughter as the wedding approaches...._

_Thanks for all your reviews and favorites. I've been amazed to see so many hits for this story, and I'd love to hear from more of you!_

* * *


	36. Chapter 36

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

"NO, CHRISTY – PUT the punch bowl next to the centerpiece. Someone could knock it off the table if you leave it there, and then what would you do?"

"Sorry, Mother." In truth, I didn't feel the least bit apologetic. I was frustrated, hanging onto my patience by the slimmest thread, and my parents had been in Cutter Gap for a mere week. Nevertheless, I moved the crystal bowl just as Mother had said, sliding it along the table until it sat under the shadow of the elaborate flower arrangement.

Mother looked up from the other end of the parlor, where she was unpacking the cutlery. "No, not_ that_ far. The petals will fall into the punch."

Gritting my teeth, I inched the bowl back again.

"Perfect," was Mother's assessment. "Now don't touch anything else. We don't want to ruin this setting before tomorrow afternoon."

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I would be marrying Neil, and my parents still couldn't quite accept the idea of the marriage happening so quickly. The whole engagement business had been concluded in a short three months, a scandalous speed by Asheville standards. I was left a little overwhelmed with the rapidity myself, but I wasn't willing to stall. I had waited for Neil long enough.

"Don't stand there dawdling, Christy. Come help me with these plates, or we'll never get this done in time. If you would have waited for another fortnight . . . ."

I chose not to answer, feeling my temper flaring perilously close to the surface.

"I think everythin' looks fine," Ruby Mae ventured softly. She shifted a sleepy Esther in her arms and moved her chair closer to the table. Despite caring for her daughter twenty-four hours a day, somehow Ruby Mae still found time to come down to oversee my wedding preparations. "Yer weddin' will be the purtiest weddin' ever, Miz Christy. Ye've got so many fine things an' all." She bent to peer more closely at one of the lead crystal candlesticks.

At least someone appreciated all the finery that my parents had dragged along with them. "Thank you, Ruby Mae."

"It would be prettier if we'd had access to the rest of the wedding set," Mother added, removing linen napkins from the crate. "We had to leave plenty of our things back in Asheville. Those particularly lovely punch cups of Grandmother's would have been perfect, but of course they wouldn't have withstood the journey. It was very hard for me to leave them behind. Such a shame."

"I don't think I would have needed punch glasses, anyway. Or a punch bowl. Or our best silver." I heard the sharpness in my own voice.

Mother turned around to look at me, her eyes narrowing. "There's no need to take that tone with me, Christy. I'm attempting to give you the best wedding I can under these . . . difficult circumstances."

"I know," I sighed.

She huffed a little but said nothing more.

Restless, I walked over to sit with Ruby Mae. From her mother's arms, Esther stared up at me; it was impossible not to smile back at her and take hold of the tiny hand that was waving out of the swath of blankets. Almost as soon as I touched her, Esther's little red face crinkled up in consternation, and she began to cry.

"She's hungry. 'Scuse me." Ruby Mae gathered Esther up and hurried into the empty kitchen.

"Christy, come here. I have something I want to show you." Mother was opening another crate, and she leaned back on her heels, pulling out handfuls of lavender silk ribbons and bows. "I thought we could decorate the house with these. I bought them in Charleston; they're Japanese silk."

"They're lovely, but I told you that my children already asked to decorate the church and the mission."

"With what?" she cried indignantly. "Twigs and moss? And really, Christy, it isn't appropriate for you to call them 'your' children."

I wanted to run out of the room and never come back. "Mother, _please_. They are mine, in the broadest sense of the word, maybe, but I love them, and they want to decorate as a wedding present. Please don't interfere."

Mother made a dismissive gesture. "That's all well and good, but honestly it's very indiscreet of you. People may make assumptions. I certainly wouldn't want it spread about that you had children so soon after marriage – like that poor Ruby girl – and I would hardly allow you to raise them in this place."

Slowly, I lowered the crate back to the ground. "What do you mean, you 'wouldn't allow'?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Christy, don't throw a fit! I know you love your mountain people, but let's be practical. You aren't really planning to let my grandchildren grow up in dirt and poverty? I doubt Neil will stand for it either."

"Neil grew up in the Cove," I said quietly. "It's a part of who he is. Our friends are here, my students are here, our home is here. Why would we leave?"

"Do be serious. Raise a family in this place? I don't want to hear another word about this ridiculousness."

"Mother . . . ."

"Not another word, Christy!"

Angry tears burned at my eyes. I couldn't believe she had the nerve to tell me how I was going to raise my own children when I had yet to even marry. I had never been so furious at her, and if I didn't get out of the house right now, I was going to say something very unladylike.

Mother looked up as I rushed toward the door. "Where are you going? We have things to finish."

I ignored her, pushing through the hall and out into the yard. Fuming, I took off briskly down the field toward the river. A walk along the riverbank would do me some good, and perhaps I would be calm enough to go back into the house. At least in that my mother had a point. There was a great deal to accomplish before tomorrow afternoon.

Wandering down to the water, I spotted a very welcome sight: my father and George fishing with Neil. Father had asked Neil to show him around the Cove, a ploy that served both as the means to get to know his new son-in-law and an excuse to avoid Mother's wedding frenzy. George tagged along, having developed an amusing sort of hero-worship for my future husband; he was already talking about how he would like to spend a few years in the mountains, learning to live off that land. I doubted that possibility, as George tired of his hobbies easily, but it was nice that Neil had at least one ally.

I made a beeline for the three of them, smiling at the sound of their laughter. Neil could be very charming when he wanted to be, and I knew that a quick wit was something my father appreciated. The weave basket by Neil's feet was full of trout, and I suspected that the majority of the catch had been his doing.

George saw me first. "Hey, Christy, did you run away from Mother? C'mere and look at this fish I caught. It's huge!"

I made the appropriate noises of admiration when he hefted up the trout out to show off; Father and Neil wore almost identical expressions of patient indulgence.

"That's some catch," I said. "You're an expert angler now."

He blushed a little, dropping the fish back into the basket. "Stop teasing, Prissy."

Father was looking at me closely. "George, why don't we go downstream and see if we can't find something else? I haven't caught a blasted thing yet. You think I'll have better luck downstream, Neil?"

"You might, sir," Neil said politely. "Try down by the bend. Sometimes the trout gather there."

"Thank you. Look after Girlie for me." Slinging an arm over George's shoulder, Father led him down the bank, leaving Neil and I alone.

"Seems like you've had quite a successful day," I commented, as he picked up his fishing rod and the basket.

"I enjoyed myself. I like your father, Christy – he is a good man. Your brother is something else too."

I grinned. "He is, isn't he?"

Starting down the trail, he clasped my hand in his. "You don't look like you enjoyed yourself too much, though."

"I guess I didn't. Mother . . . ."

He sighed. "What happened this time?"

I looked up at him guiltily. "Have I complained that much?"

"That's not what I meant," he soothed. "I'm only sorry that you have to cope with so much. I know Mrs. Huddleston means well. She only wants you to be happy. Just remember that it's your wedding, not your mother's."

"It's your wedding too," I reminded him.

Neil chuckled. "Yes, but I'm not terribly interested in the tablecloths, or what country the lace trim for the napkins comes from, or that the plates are embedded with real silver edging. I could care less if we ate honeycomb and berries for our wedding supper."

I was a little put out at the notion that all our work would go unappreciated. "You don't care at all?"

He must have seen the hurt on my face. "It's not that I don't care. I'm just happy with whatever you choose to do."

Suddenly I didn't want to think about Mother and her ribbons anymore. I was inches away from Neil, and he was looking rumpled, happy, and perfectly delicious. Our wedding was tomorrow, after all. Shouldn't we be enjoying these last few hours of anticipation?

I swayed up onto my toes and wound my arms around his neck. "Very politic answer, Dr. MacNeill," I murmured. "I think you deserve a kiss for it."

He accepted my kiss and gave me one in return. Well, more than one. Maybe more than two. It was a bit difficult to keep count. I simply clung to his shoulders and enjoyed the process, a bit more than I probably should have.

I didn't know whether it was the knowledge that we were truly about to be married, or that both of us were feeling the pressure of impending change, but there was a new passion in the way he held me.

The kiss deepened, and I felt a change in Neil's manner – he had been relatively passive, gentle, but something of his restraint seemed to fall away. I was swept away by his urgency, the frantic press of his mouth, his warm hand at my throat . . . and then suddenly he was gone.

My eyes flew open to see Neil standing a few feet away, looking everywhere but at me. I stared back at him mutely, unable to catch my breath. After a moment he seemed to have recovered his composure; he came back to the embankment, red-faced. "I'm sorry, Christy. I shouldn't have done that."

"Did I...did I do something wrong?"

He blinked. "Wrong? Christy, you didn't do anything wrong. That's the problem."

"What?"

"It isn't a good idea to carry on like this."

"Oh, don't worry, Neil. Opal told me all about . . . ." I cut myself off, blushing.

One eyebrow tilted up, but other than that he graciously decided to ignore that remark. "My self-control is always suspect when you're in question, Christy. I don't want us to get into a situation that we might regret later."

"Neil, surely a few kisses won't hurt anything. We're getting married tomorrow."

"Maybe not, but you have no idea how much . . . " He coughed. "Uh . . . well, you have to believe me, Christy. I know my own limits." He bent forward and kissed my cheek. "I had better find your father and George."

"And I had better go back to Mother and finish unpacking all those crates." I hesitated. "Thank you for everything, Neil."

"Thank _you_," he said softly, with that gentle smile that was just for me.

I left him reluctantly, walking back up the slope to the mission house, but my heart felt a little lighter, though my stomach wasn't feeling quite so steady. I was nervous, yes, but also eager.

I was ready.

* * *

_A/N: Ooh, Neil's gettin' a little fresh, huh? ; ) No, really, we're gearing up for the end, guys. Who's excited for the wedding? _

_Okay, I do have a question for you all, and I'd really like your feedback on this. Just leave me a note by review or PM. Would you like to see an epilogue for this story to give an overview of the MacNeills' lives after the wedding, or would that just bore you? Let me know!_

* * *


	37. Chapter 37

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

STARING INTO MISS Alice's vanity mirror, I held absolutely still as Opal pinned up the last satin fold on the hem of my wedding gown. Mother was fluttering around the refreshment table outside, but Opal, Ruby Mae, Elizabeth, and Miss Alice had accompanied me to the cabin to get dressed for the ceremony.

In exactly three hours, I would marry Neil.

"Hold still, dear," Miss Alice murmured, tucking a stray curl back into place.

"I'm sorry." I tried to stop fidgeting, but I couldn't seem to help it. Ruby Mae giggled at my petulant tone.

"I was as nervous as a coon hidin' from a bloodhound afore I got marrit to Will," she told me, wandering over to inspect Miss Alice's handiwork. "That looks right purty. How'd you make all them little knots twist around like that?"

I ignored the conversation about my coiffure and instead looked down at Opal, who was now diligently stitching up the skirt another half-inch to prevent me from tripping. She cut a sly glance up at me, biting back a smile as if she could read my very thoughts; I felt my cheeks flush.

"Christy, I'm going ter check on Miz Iverson an' the other ladies in the kitchen. Ruby Mae, you come along with me." Opal rose to her feet, shaking out my skirt with an expression of pure satisfaction. "Be back in jest a minnit, Miz Alice."

Ruby Mae protested for a moment before meekly buckling under Opal's firm stare. Picking up the sewing basket, Elizabeth trailed after them without a word, leaving Miss Alice and I alone.

Without a moment's pause, Miss Alice lifted one last ringlet over my shoulder before clipping up the trailing wisps with the beautiful comb that Neil had given me as a wedding gift. It was a lovely ornament, much finer than my usual accoutrements: filigreed silver, with dainty seed pearls threaded throughout. It had been such a surprise to find it sitting on my pillow last evening with a brief note from Neil, suggesting that it might look well with my wedding dress. For such a stolid man, he could be surprisingly romantic when the impulse struck him.

"How art thee feeling, Christy?" Miss Alice asked softly, her hands light and comforting on my shoulders.

"Nervous and excited all at once." I smiled. "I can't believe I'm getting married today."

"Neither can I," she chuckled. "I'm very proud to have such a fine daughter." She tenderly cupped my chin with her hands as she kissed my forehead. "May your life with Neil overflow with blessings."

I blinked back tears. "Thank you." It was all I could say. How else could I express how much her love and approval meant? In many ways, she was a true mother to me, though I suspected that I should feel some pang of guilt at the ease in which the comparison came to me. I did not want to spend my wedding day filled with anger toward my actual mother.

"All done?" she asked, brushing a few fallen hairs from my shoulder. "You may join everyone else in the house if you'd like. You might as well sit down and rest; you have a very long day ahead of you."

"But Neil . . . " A lingering sense of superstition made me reluctant to chance an encounter with my groom before our appointed meeting at the altar.

"I have it on good authority that Mr. Spencer is keeping Neil sequestered in the schoolhouse. He will not see thee."

I smiled at her gratefully, and she helped me out onto the path, holding my short train very carefully above the grass while I hiked my skirt up past my ankles. We must have looked absurd, because I could hear the distinct sounds of Sam Houston's and Creed's laughter. I glanced up to find the two boys sitting on the porch with a few of the other children, still stringing wreaths of wildflowers through the slats. I waved, laughing along with them, and some of the littlest ones ran down the path to meet me.

Miss Alice tactfully kept small, dirty hands away from my white gown while I answered eager questions and praised the beautiful work they had done. My children had spared no effort to make the mission look festive: elaborate strings of flowers and berries were interspersed with paper hearts and even a few store-bought glass ornaments. I kissed their upturned faces one by one, unable to tell them how pleased and proud I was, and how much their efforts meant.

Isaak lingered behind the others, but he smiled and tipped his hat when I caught his eye. I smiled back, knowing that all was well between us again. Little Burl gave me a sprig of lavender to slip into my hair, assuring me that it was the very best flower on the entire mountain, and Mountie -- with a bit of assistance from Miss Alice -- tucked it carefully under the silver clip.

I sat out on the porch with them for a long while, enjoying the innocent warmth of their affection while I still could. Things would not change immediately -- I would still teach at the school for now -- but if Neil and I had a child of our own, I would have to give up teaching. Expectant women were not allowed in the schoolroom.

Pushing those unhappy thoughts away, I told them that I would be very glad to have them visit at the cabin whenever they wanted; Miss Alice, bless her heart, was quick to interject that the doctor and I might wish for a few weeks to spend together before we were besieged with guests.

Too soon, Mother learned of my presence and hurried me away from the children, citing a need for my opinion on some dish or another. I followed her obediently through the house, enjoying the steady buzz of activity around us, but she didn't stop in the parlor. Instead she led me out to the little pantry, which was probably the only empty room in the mission.

"Christy, dear, you are a lovely bride," she said softly, holding me by the shoulders. "I just wanted to tell you so."

I felt ashamed of my pettiness. As soon as she opened her arms I rushed into them, holding her tightly. The weight of her disapproval was still there, and I didn't know that it would ever disappear completely, but at least I could begin to understand why. In her mind, she was losing me to the wilderness once and for all. I couldn't resent her fear.

"I love you," I said, feeling oddly sentimental.

"Be happy, dear," she replied, taking a step back to look at me. "That's all I want."

"I know." I moved to hug her again, but she pulled away, frowning as her gaze centered on the top of my head.

"What's that in your hair?" She reached out, clicking her tongue. "For goodness' sake, Christy Huddleston, have you been rolling around in the grass?"

I remembered the lavender just in time, dodging away from her hands. "Mountie put it in there for me. Leave it, please."

"Christy, it doesn't look good with your dress. It's not even the right color. Here, just let me . . ." "It's fine, Mother. It was Little Burl's wedding gift to me, and I want to wear it."

She let her hands drop, a momentary flash of exasperation crossing her face before she sighed ruefully. "Stubborn child. I'm going to go check on the progress in the kitchen; if you want to talk with your father for a little while, he's outside in the garden." She kissed my cheek once and shooed me away.

I spent the remaining hour with Father, sitting on the porch and looking out toward the mountains and longing for Fairlight. We didn't say much -- we didn't need to. It calmed me, scattered all my anxieties, as I remembered leisurely evenings spent in the study with my father, relaxing in silent companionship. The steady but unspoken weight of his acceptance meant more to me than I could express, so I didn't even attempt it. I knew he understood.

Giving my thoughts free reign, I marveled at how something as simple as a fifteen-minute ceremony could change my life so completely. I was going to be a wife, and perhaps a mother. The last thing I'd expected to find when I came to Cutter Gap all those years ago was a husband. It was ironic, in a sense, as I'd fled Asheville partly in fear of being married too soon.

For the first time in many weeks, I thought of David, and my buoyant heart was momentarily weighed down by the memories of unanswered questions.

I had yet to hear from him beyond that single letter, nor did I think it prudent to send him any message of my marriage -- it seemed too cruel on the heels of everything else. Perhaps someday, when we were settled and the rawness of everything had healed over, perhaps then we could see each other again without resentment.

I straightened my lace sleeves and closed my eyes, not attempting to banish the images: David walking with me along the moonlit path to the mission, his laughing eyes and teasing smile, and finally, his handsome face twisted in anger and jealousy. I let the memories run their course -- it wasn't strange that they should surface on this day of all days -- and then let go of them, maybe forever. I wouldn't forget David, and I would always pray for his happiness, but today wasn't a day to dwell on it.

The low chime of the schoolhouse bell ringing made me glance up, the nervous tremors running up and down my spine returning twofold. Father straightened his suit coat and stood, holding out his arm. "Well, Girlie," he said softly, "that's our signal."

Taking a calming breath, I hooked my arm through my father's and began the slow walk that would lead me to Neil.

* * *

I ALWAYS THOUGHT that my wedding day would be a permanent memory, every second imprinted on my mind.

Instead it was simply surreal, a patchwork of scattered thoughts and sensations and emotions. I couldn't have provided an account of the ceremony even if I was asked to; my impressions were composed of little more than fragments pieced together haphazardly to create the whole: Zady's shy smile as she dropped petals down the makeshift aisle; Miss Alice's proud voice; my father's suspiciously damp eyes as he gave me away . . . and Neil. Neil, looking tall and handsome, taking my hand and solemnly promising to love me in sickness and health, til death do us part.

And then we were spilling out into the sunshine, church doors flung wide. I was kissed and hugged and petted, surrounded by joyful friends and my children. The thick, sweet scent of mountain laurel was heavy in the air.

I don't quite know what I said, who I kissed and thanked, but I was aware of Neil's hand still clasped around mine, as if he didn't dare let go in the fear that I might float away.

There was dancing out in the field. Neil was finally pulled away from me for some sort of manly camaraderie -- and then I was abruptly awake again, the fog clearing away from my eyes.

"Congrat'lashuns, Missus MacNeill," Opal was saying, beaming as she held me at arm's length.

I blinked at her. "I'm married now, aren't I?"

She laughed. "Yes, ye are! Poor gal, you look downright befuzzled! Here, sit yerself down fer a minnit and git yer brains back together."

"Neil . . .?"

"He's been dragged off by the menfolk. Don't ye worry. They can't git into too much mischief with yer pa and brother with 'im."

Ignoring the chair she held out for me, I flopped down into the grass, watching the dancers and the lively movements of Jeb's bow as it seesawed across his old fiddle.

Without a thought for her own dress -- the only store-bought one she owned, I noticed absently -- Opal sat down next to me.

"I really am married," I whispered after a long moment.

Her smile was unexpectedly gentle. "Aye."

And suddenly the sunshine seemed all that much brighter.

* * *

WE DIDN'T RETURN to our cabin until long after the moon was hanging full and ripe over our heads, but I didn't mind the lateness of the hour. If our actual wedding was a blur, I didn't think I would ever forget the feeling of dancing with my husband under the stars, twirling until the sky was streaked with light.

I was curled against Neil's back, wrapped in a quilt despite the warmth of the night. We didn't say a word as Charlie plodded patiently along the familiar trail home. It was peaceful, just what we required after so much commotion and noise.

By some miracle, Jeb had engineered an escape before the men could give us the usual wedding-night treatment. I was grateful to him -- tradition was tradition, but Neil and I had done nothing but break tradition in Cutter Gap, so it shouldn't have been too much of a surprise to anyone.

I rested my cheek against his back, feeling the strong press of muscle beneath his suit, and tried not to think too much about what was going to happen when we finally arrived at the cabin -- _our _cabin. I'd had quite enough contemplation about all things conjugal; my mother had seen to that, with her last minute "advice" before Neil and I fled our party.

When I felt brave enough, I was certainly going to thank Opal for her instructions, because I was fairly sure that otherwise Mother's little talk would have been far too disturbing. Perhaps I would be able to laugh about it in the future, but for right now, I just wanted to forget.

I shivered a little in automatic response, and Neil must have felt the motion.

"Are you cold, lass?"

The pet name never failed to draw a smile out of me. "Lass? Shouldn't it be 'Mrs. MacNeill' instead?"

"I suppose it should. Mrs. MacNeill." There was something low and . . . dare I say it? . . . _wicked_ in his voice, and I shuddered for another reason entirely.

* * *

MY NERVES WERE strung tight as I changed into my nightgown. I could hear Neil moving around downstairs, and it occurred to me that I could simply lock the door and hide up here until morning.

_You are a coward_, I berated myself. _Neil's waiting for you. You love him, remember?_

I started toward the door, only to catch a glimpse of myself in the vanity mirror. The beautiful nightdress had seemed so innocent and modest when I'd seen it folded in my trunk, but curved around my body, it was anything _but _modest. Blushing, I folded my arms over my breasts and forced myself to look away from the mirror.

I had no idea when he would come up, and my courage failed me. I darted under the covers, pulling them up to my chin, and waited.

Neil didn't keep me long; it took him maybe ten minutes more before he tapped on the door. "Christy? May I come in?"

I squeaked some sort of agreement, and when he came in and saw me peeking out from the quilt, he very distinctly bit back a smile.

He was fully dressed, thank heavens, which settled me down a little bit -- maybe Neil wouldn't mind if I turned down the lamp? I wanted to ask but suspected that he might laugh at me; he really did have a very inconvenient sense of humor, and right now, I didn't think I could bear to look any more foolish.

I felt the mattress dip as he crawled into bed next to me, moving as quietly as possible. His fingers brushed against my cheek and I turned to look at him and summoned up a bright smile.

"You look like you're about to faint."

"Well, aren't you a gentleman?" I grumped.

He chuckled but didn't move his hand away -- the motion was rather soothing. "You know I'm not a gentleman, Mrs. MacNeill, but you married me anyway."

He had a point. "'Mrs. MacNeill'," I repeated, still testing out the sound. "Christy MacNeill. I like it -- it's a nice, sturdy name, don't you think?"

"Aye. I'm glad you like it, though it's too late now to take it back."

I knew he was teasing, but I thought immediately of Margaret. She had taken it back. "I would never want to take it back," I told him seriously. "Never."

That tenderness was in his face again, and I felt my tense body begin to relax, leaning more heavily against his. "I'll hold you to that promise, lass." He nuzzled my hair before dropping his lips to my forehead, my cheek, my nose, my chin -- and finally my lips. My courage returned as we fell together under the blankets, and I gave myself up to Neil's kiss.

* * *

MUCH LATER, I rested in my husband's arms, sated and deliciously weary. His warm weight pressed against me reassuringly, lulling me to sleep -- but I wasn't ready to put an end to this amazing night. I wanted to savor every minute.

Tomorrow would be a new day, a new start in a new life, but for now, I wanted to cling on to what we were.

Neil was idly playing with my hair, carding the strands between his fingers and smiling a soft, secret smile. I shifted a little until my cheek was pressed just inside the curve of his shoulder and basked in the attention.

"What are you thinking?" he whispered.

I considered the question, wondering how best to put into words what I was feeling. "I was thinking that I love you more than I can say."

His lips curved up appreciatively. "I'm mighty glad to hear that."

"And I was thinking that Opal's peach pie is the best in the entire country."

Neil's laughter rumbled up from deep in his chest, and his arms tightened around me. "You always manage to surprise me."

"A good wife has to keep her husband on his toes," I said wisely. "And what about you? What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking about blessings," he said. "I thank God for you."

Infuriating, stubborn, taciturn Neil MacNeill had a regular knack for catching me unawares with the sweetest, kindest compliments, and I found myself pushing back tears for the hundredth time in twenty-four hours.

I kissed him once, and we lapsed into easy silence, watching the moon crest over the mountains from our bedroom window and waiting for dawn.

There was really nothing more that needed to be said.

* * *

_A/N: Oh my god, this is the end! The story is finished at long (long) last! _

_  
A thousand apologies for the lateness of this update, and a thousand thank-yous to those of you who read, reviewed, and PMed all the way through this monster. I can't tell you how encouraging your support was, or how much I appreciated it. _

_  
The input on an epilogue was overwhelmingly in favor, but when I finished this chapter, nothing I wrote after it felt right, so there won't be an epilogue. I guess it's sort of fitting that this story should end on an open note just like the novel. There were some loose ends (ie: David, Bird's-Eye, teaching after being marriage, etc) but life doesn't always tie everything up in a neat package, so I hope you'll forgive me for that too. _

_  
Again, thanks so much to everyone for the support and encouragement. I had a lot of fun playing with Catherine Marshall's characters. _

_  
-RuthR_


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